


The Head and the Heart

by dancewithme19



Series: I Hear Your Voice [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 19:50:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3353210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancewithme19/pseuds/dancewithme19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 2 of I Hear Your Voice, a series of five stories set in five different AU universes, all connected by theme. Kurt is living his New York dream. He attends the most prestigious performing arts school in the country, his indie-pop cover band has performed at all of Brooklyn’s hippest night spots, and he’s in love for the first time in his life. Nothing can touch him. It isn’t until he sparks a connection with a stranger in the unlikeliest of places that he realizes that maybe isn’t such a good thing after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Head and the Heart

**From the Merriam-Webster Dictionary** :

 _Empath_ n. /’em-path/ – (1) a person whose extrasensory abilities include sensitivity to the emotions of another, in the absence of telepathic or other psychic feedback, (2) _colloq._ a person who values emotion over intellect and logic.

 _Telepath_ n. /’te-lə-,path/ – a person whose extrasensory abilities include sensitivity to the thoughts and mental projections of another, in the absence of empathic or other psychic feedback.

 

**Compiled from 2010 US Census Data:**

**_Distribution of Psychic Powers Across Gender_**  
  
---  
  
_Gender_

| 

_Power_

| 

_% of Total Population_  
  
**Female**

| 

Telepathy

| 

38.64%  
  
Empathy

| 

11.49%  
  
**Male**

| 

Telepathy

| 

49.18%  
  
Empathy

| 

0.79%  
  
 

 **From an article entitled “Localization of Empathic Transmission in the Human Brain,” published in _The Journal of Neuroscience_ in 1998** :

“…fMRI images showed substantially increased activity throughout the limbic system, as well as the dorsolateral prefrontal and superior temporal gyri. This is a marked contrast to the exclusively frontal activity seen in subjects with telepathic ability, providing further support for Braunman’s theory of limbic inversion (Braunman et al., 1973)…”

 

 **From a book entitled “Living with Empathy: an Expert’s Guide to Navigating Life with an Empath,” published in 2005** :

“…This difference is never clearer than when arguments arise. Your tendency is to appeal to reason; hers is to ignore it. She can’t read your thoughts; she can’t hear anything but what you say. And that’s not even taking into consideration the empathy of it all (imagine all of the anger and frustration you feel, then double it, and see how your judgment fares!). It shouldn’t be surprising that a small disagreement with an empath can become a screaming match in the blink of an eye. This chapter will give you several easy strategies you can employ to make sure you don’t end up sleeping on the couch…”

 

**From novelist Leah Buckman’s 2009 Appearance on _The Daily Show with Jon Stewart_ :**

“…And that’s exactly what prompted me to write _Gaining Empathy_. There’s this impression we get from popular media that empathy is some sort of handicap, rather than the extraordinary gift that it is. I wanted to do my part to fix that.”

 

&&&&&

 

“Tell me again why we’re going to this party.”

 

Rachel threads her arm through Kurt’s and flashes him a bright grin.

 

“Because Sam invited us. And it’ll be fun, spending time with people outside of our normal circles.”

 

Kurt rolls his eyes.

 

“It’s going to be a bunch of drunk, horny frat boys who can’t keep their thoughts to themselves.”

 

“Isn’t Sam in art school?”

 

“So?”

 

“There aren’t any frat boys in art school, Kurt.”

 

“Fine, then a bunch of drunk, horny hipsters. What difference does it make?”

 

Rachel doesn’t answer.

 

“We’re here!” she says brightly, instead.

 

She untucks her arm and pulls him by the hand, as if she doesn’t trust him to follow on his own. Sam buzzes them in. She keeps dragging him all the way up the stairs.

 

 _Ow, Rachel_ , he thinks at her.

 

 _Don’t be a baby_ , she tosses back.

 

They pause in front of the door. Kurt snatches his hand out of her grip.

 

“We’re staying for an hour. Tops.”

 

“Kurt, that’s nothing! What if I meet someone cute?”

 

“Then you’ll get his phone number. Seriously, Rachel, you know how much I hate parties like this. Drunk people are the worst at shielding.”

 

Her expression softens, as if she understands, but Kurt knows that she doesn’t. She can’t. It’s not the same for her.

 

“Fine. We’ll leave in an hour. But let’s at least try to have fun while we’re here, okay?”

 

She’s smiling, an encouragement and a plea. Kurt nods, makes an attempt at returning her smile. His annoyance with her is rapidly melting away, despite his best efforts – he knows this will be hard for her, too, for her own reasons.

 

 _Don’t worry, you’ve got yourself a wingman_ , he transmits.

 

She grins.

 

 _You’re the best! Not that I need one, of course_.

 

 _Of course not_.

 

 _Still, it’s nice to have back-up_.

 

She kisses him quickly on the cheek and opens the door.

 

“Here we go,” he says under his breath. He clicks his own shields up a couple of notches and follows in her wake.

 

&&&&&

 

Kurt makes it through about 30 minutes of catching up with Sam and making small talk with strangers before he needs to take a break. Sam’s apartment is small, and the booze is plentiful, and it’s starting to feel like there’s a horde of bees in his head.

 

He knows what will happen next – the buzzing will get steadily louder and more obnoxious, beating relentlessly at his shields until, finally, they buckle. That absolutely cannot happen if Kurt wants to maintain any semblance of sanity.

 

He excuses himself from the conversation he was only half paying attention to anyway and practically plows through the crowd to get to the fire escape. A murmur of _that was rude – how rude – fuck you_ ripples after him as he goes. He crawls through the window and shuts it behind him, shuts all of it out. The relief is immediate, and he takes a moment to breathe it in.

 

He just needs quiet, just for a few minutes.

 

He opens his eyes. He starts.

 

He’s not alone.

 

There’s a guy perched on the steps, watching him with bright, curious eyes. He’s on the smaller side of average, with dark, slicked-back hair and a black pea coat that fits his shoulders beautifully. Kurt swallows.

 

“Oh, um, hi, I’m sorry, I – ”

 

“Needed a break?” the guy finishes kindly.

 

“Yeah. It got a little…overwhelming in there.”

 

The guy smiles ruefully.

 

“I know the feeling.”

 

Kurt doesn’t say anything for a moment, because – well, frankly, because he’s staring. The guy is handsome, no doubt, but that’s not – there’s something about him that just – Kurt finds he has to remind himself to breathe.

 

“I’m Blaine,” says the guy – Blaine – after a moment. He reaches out a hand.

 

Kurt takes it.

 

“Kurt.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Kurt.”

 

Blaine’s smile is broad and utterly sincere. His eyes never once flicker away from Kurt’s as they shake hands.

 

“Likewise.”

 

His voice comes out breathy, and Kurt rolls his eyes at himself mentally. Really, it’s just a hot guy. A hot guy with old-school Hollywood charm and beautiful, unusual eyes that are actually sparkling right now with reflected light. No big deal.

 

“Are you in school with Sam?” says Blaine, with a curious cock of the head.

 

“Oh, no. I mean, I was. In high school. We were in the same glee club.”

 

Blaine lights up.

 

“Oh! You were in New Directions?”

 

Kurt nods slowly, confused, but Blaine is already rushing to explain.

 

“I was a Warbler,” he says, grinning, as if this is supposed to mean something to Kurt. Kurt gives him a blank look. Blaine’s grin starts to droop, just slightly. “We competed with you at Sectionals last year? You know, when that girl fainted on stage, and they tried to disqualify you from the competition, but then we started a letter-writing campaign and got you an extra slot at Regionals? Any of this ringing a bell?”

 

Kurt shrugs.

 

“Vaguely. I graduated the year before, so I only got the news second-hand.”

 

“Ah. I was starting to get concerned about your memory.”

 

“Is that how you met Sam?”

 

“Oh, yeah. When we reached out to New Directions, he was the only one who reached back. I guess they’d been burned by rival show choirs in the past.”

 

“You could say that, yes. Though ‘egged’ might be a better term.”

 

Blaine winces.

 

“Gross. Anyway, we figured out that we had a lot in common, so it really only made sense for us to find a place together when we both moved to the city.”

 

“Ah, so you’re the roommate.”

 

Blaine nods.

 

“That’s me.”

 

There’s a stretch of blessed, companionable silence after that. Nothing is coming from Blaine, at all, not even a low-level hum. Kurt appreciates that kind of consideration.

 

“What is it you do in the city?” asks Blaine, after a time. He’s looking at Kurt with that heady, undivided focus of his. Kurt has to stop himself from fidgeting.

 

“I’m a student at NYADA. Musical Theater.” Blaine raises his eyebrows, impressed – a typical reaction, Kurt’s found – and Kurt straightens his spine. He’s preening, he knows, but, well, he’s earned it. “You?” he adds.

 

“NYU. Music Performance.”

 

“Do you play an instrument?”

 

“Piano. And voice, obviously.”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“I thought about going down the theater route, but, I don’t know – I’m really a piano man, at heart.”

 

“See, now, if we were in a musical, that would be the cue for our big Billy Joel homage.”

 

Blaine laughs.

 

“I’d pay to see that show. Actually, I did. It was called _Movin’ Out_.”

 

“Oh, my god, did you see the 2009 tour when it came to Cleveland?”

 

“It was the only thing I asked for for my birthday that year!”

 

“Me too! Well, no, actually that’s a lie. I definitely asked for a lifetime subscription to _Vogue Paris_. My dad made the wiser investment.”

 

“Sounds like it. Considering your current career path.”

 

“True. Though, ironically enough, my first job in the city was an internship at Vogue.com.”

 

Blaine’s jaw drops.

 

“No way! There are people who would literally kill for a job like that! You know, if _The Devil Wears Prada_ is to be believed.”

 

“Don’t worry, I’m aware. It was a total dream come true, even if it didn’t pay, but it ended up eating up the time I should have been investing in Pamela Lansbury.”

 

Blaine’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

 

“Um, is that your…?”

 

“Oh! My band. Pamela as in Anderson, Lansbury as in Angela.”

 

Blaine chuckles appreciatively.

 

“Ah. Got it. That’s clever.”

 

Kurt is struck with sudden inspiration.

 

“You should audition for the band! I mean, if you want to. Our keyboardist just quit, and we could use a new voice on backing vocals. We were going to hold open auditions again, but if we can avoid that…”

 

He makes a face. The last time, Elliott showed up and everything turned out for the best, but Kurt is fully aware that that was fluke.

 

Besides, he has a feeling about Blaine. Who, from the hesitant look on his face, doesn’t seem to share it.

 

“Wow, that’s – I mean, it’s really nice of you to offer, but – can I think about it?”

 

“Of course! I’ll give you my number, and you can let me know when you’ve made up your mind.”

 

Blaine smiles sunnily.

 

“Okay, yeah. That sounds great.”

 

They dig out their phones and exchange numbers.

 

“Last name?” says Kurt, poised to type it in.

 

“Anderson.”

 

 _Blaine Anderson_.

 

“No relation to Pamela, I presume,” says Kurt, smiling at his own joke as he slips his phone back into his pocket.

 

Blaine smiles, too. It edges toward a smirk.

 

“Nope. Not the one you’re thinking of at least.” Seeing Kurt’s quizzical look, he explains, “My mom’s name is Pam.”

 

“No way.”

 

“Very much way. Sam just about blew a gasket when he found out. He has, like, the first six seasons of _Baywatch_ on DVD. Though, between you and me, I think he might be more into Hasselhoff than Pamela Anderson.”

 

“You mean – ”

 

“He thinks the Hoff is some sort of acting genius.”

 

He rolls his eyes, and Kurt lets out an undignified snort, and then there’s this moment when their eyes meet, and –

 

Kurt looks away. He glances through the window at the party raging just beyond. Rachel isn’t anywhere in sight.

 

“Is someone looking for you in there?” says Blaine.

 

“Oh, probably not. But if she is, she knows where to find me.” _I’m certainly not going back into the snake pit unless she drags me_ , he adds, rolling his eyes for effect, certain that Blaine will echo the sentiment.

 

But it feels immediately _wrong_. Not so much like he’s run head first into a wall, the way he was half-expecting, considering the strength of Blaine’s shields, but… Like he’s stepped off the edge of a cliff, when the ground was supposed to be firm beneath his feet. Blaine is right there, close enough to touch, and yet – he’s _not_.

 

Blaine is looking at him, eyes squinted in confusion, head tilted just slightly to the left. Kurt can only stare at him dumbly.

 

“Oh!” says Blaine, in sudden realization. “You’re trying to transmit to me aren’t you? I’m so sorry, I should have told you sooner. I’m an empath.”

 

Kurt blinks, and tries not to feel utterly surprised. Or at the very least not to show his utter surprise.

 

“I thought you said…”

 

“People are pretty terrible at shielding their emotions when they’re drunk, too.”

 

He’s smiling at Kurt, patient and polite, and Kurt feels like an idiot.

 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

 

“It’s okay. Most people do.”

 

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean they should.”

 

Blaine has his mouth open, a response ready on his lips, but he pauses. He looks Kurt over with sharp, seeking eyes.

 

“I have a feeling that people’s assumptions about you usually turn out to be wrong, Kurt Hummel.”

 

Kurt doesn’t quite know what to say to that. He settles for, “I do like to keep people on their toes.”

 

Blaine grins. It makes his eyes crinkle slightly, in the corners.

 

Kurt finds himself thinking, _Guess this party wasn’t a total bust, after all_ , and he’s suddenly glad that Blaine can’t read his thoughts.

 

He doesn’t examine why.

 

&&&&&

 

Kurt looks up the Warblers almost as soon as he gets home. They have a YouTube channel teeming with videos from performances at competitions and retirement homes and what looks like a private school common room, dating back to 2006. Blaine makes his first appearance in early 2010 – from then on, he’s a dominating presence.

 

And, oh god, but Kurt can see why.

 

It’s not – _he’s_ not anything that Kurt’s used to. His technique isn’t particularly astounding. He doesn’t smack you in the face with the power of his voice, or take the stage by force and dare you to look away. He doesn’t need to.

 

When he’s on stage, when he sings, there’s just – it’s like he’s a magnet and the audience is made of iron particles, like he’s the sun and the entire world is in thrall to his gravity. He doesn’t need to fight for the audience, because they’d follow him anywhere, without question. He feels, and they feel with him, he gives, and they give back. He makes them want to. It’s more than just charisma, it’s – it feels like magic, as silly as that sounds.

 

Three hours pass before Kurt takes any notice of the time. He shakes himself, like he’s coming out of a trance, and it feels like that, too. His eyes are dry and scratchy with fatigue and too long spent staring at his computer screen in the dark of his living room. His heart is still pounding, even as his brain tries to shut itself down.

 

Kurt closes his computer. The room is pitch black, but for the glow of the streetlamps filtering in through the curtains. Normally, Kurt would find this creepy, but he’s far too giddy right now to pay any heed.

 

They _have_ to get Blaine to join the band. They have to. He’s special, and unusual, and just exactly what they need.

 

He nods, once, decisively, and breaks into a jaw-cracking yawn that sets him laughing at himself.

 

He makes his way to his bedroom, stumbling over the boots he didn’t bother to put away when he came in for the night, using the walls and the soft sound of snoring from down the hall to help him navigate.

 

He changes as quietly as he can, then slips into bed. Adrian’s long arm snakes out to pull him close. Normally, Kurt would revel in the sleep-heavy weight of Adrian’s arm around him, but tonight – he eases Adrian’s arm off of his body, guides it to a pillow instead. He’s too revved up, his heart going too fast. His mind is full of –

 

He doesn’t want to wake Adrian with his body’s restlessness.

 

He closes his eyes and tries to will his mind into blankness.

 

&&&&&

 

The first time he wakes, the sun is just starting to send pale light through the blinds, and Adrian is kissing up the column of his neck. Kurt would enjoy the feeling of his boyfriend’s warm, lazy lips against his skin if he felt any less like a zombie, but, as it is, all he can manage is to groan and mumble, _Later_.

 

Adrian chuckles, and leans forward to press a kiss to Kurt’s temple.

 

 _I should be home by three_.

 

Kurt grunts and waves vaguely in Adrian’s general direction. He’s already halfway back to sleep.

 

The next time he wakes, it’s to the sound of his ringtone. He blinks his eyes open blearily, takes in the mid-morning light, and gropes around on his bedside table until he finds his phone.

 

It’s a text. From Blaine.

 

Kurt’s heart gives a lurch, and his fingers stumble clumsily through the lock screen.

 

 _I looked you guys up on YouTube_ , it reads. _I’m in. Just tell me the time and place_.

 

Suddenly, Kurt is wide awake. He lets out a sound somewhere between a whoop and a squeal and maybe does a little celebratory dance that almost ends with him dropping his phone.

 

He types his reply so quickly that it looks like it was written by a seven-year-old. He deletes it and starts fresh.

 

 _We’re rehearsing tomorrow at 2, at my friends’ loft in Bushwick. Bring your keyboard and a song_.

 

It’s only moments before the reply comes back.

 

_Can’t wait._ _J_ _What’s the address?_

 

Kurt sends it to him, then lets his phone drop onto the bed as he stretches, satisfied.

 

Now he just has to convince his bandmates.

 

&&&&&

 

He decides to let Blaine’s performance speak for itself. He tells everyone that he found someone who might be interested in playing with them and leaves it at that. Adrian keeps looking at him funny, probably because Kurt is fidgeting with nerves and excitement, but he doesn’t say a word.

 

Blaine arrives just exactly on time, a sunny smile on his face. He’s wearing a purple polo that hugs his biceps and shows off the lines of his shoulders, tucked neatly into tight, dark wash jeans that he’s rolled up at the bottom, over shiny black loafers. He’s got a yellow bowtie dotted sparsely with little purple monkeys, tied snugly against the base of his throat. The overall effect is old-fashioned gentleman meets modern preppy, with just the right touch of whimsy.

 

The outfit also displays his body beautifully, but that’s beside the point.

 

Kurt makes quick work of introductions, eager to get Blaine performing so that Santana will stop shooting him those frankly skeptical looks.

 

“Oh, so you’re the mysterious roommate!” says Rachel, smiling prettily up at him through her eyelashes as they shake hands. Kurt just barely refrains from rolling his eyes. He ignores the part of him that wants to slap her hand away from Blaine. “Sam kept talking about you the other night, but you were nowhere to be found.”

 

Blaine hesitates. He shoots Kurt a quizzical look out of the corner of his eye.

 

“I was probably out on the fire escape,” he says eventually, charming smile at his lips. “Parties can be a little…overwhelming, for me.”

 

“That’s where we met, actually,” says Kurt. He doesn’t want Blaine to think he’s been keeping their meeting some sort of secret. Even if he kind of has. “We bonded over our mutual distaste for people who can’t keep their shields up when they drink.”

 

He looks pointedly over at Santana, who rolls her eyes.

 

 _Whatever, Hummel. At least I’ve never woken up the neighbors with my mid-fuck transmission splatter_.

 

Kurt feels himself go red. He can practically feel her smirking.

 

 _That was_ one time.

 

 _Yeah, one time too many. Believe me, no one wanted to know how_ awesome _the Hungry, Hungry Hipster’s tongue felt in your –_

 

“Okay, Blaine, why don’t you set up?” Kurt says, hurriedly. He shows Blaine their makeshift stage and lets him get to it.

 

 _He’s cute_ , says Rachel. Her eyes are fixed firmly on Blaine, who’s bending over to retrieve his power cord. Kurt’s eyes dart away. _Why didn’t you introduce us? You were supposed to be my wingman!_

_You told me you didn’t need one._

_Still. He’s_ cute _._

_You’ve said._

_Is he single?_

_I don’t know, Rachel. The topic didn’t exactly come up._

 

She purses her lips at him skeptically, then goes back to her ogling.

 

It doesn’t take Blaine long to get ready. He clears his throat, once he has, and he waits for their attention to turn to him.

 

“Thank you for this opportunity,” he says, with a well-practiced smile. “I’ve never played with a band before, but hopefully this will convince you to take the risk. This song is for Kurt.”

 

He winks at Kurt, actually _winks_ , and everyone turns to look. Rachel’s expression is a strange mix of intrigued and scandalized. Santana looks amused. Kurt can’t bring himself to look at Adrian.

 

It doesn’t matter in a moment, though, because then Blaine is playing, and Kurt can’t help but laugh. It’s _Piano Man_ , of course, and there’s a twist of mischief in Blaine’s earnest smile when it lands on Kurt.

 

He’s every bit as captivating as Kurt remembers from those videos. His voice is lovely and his piano even lovelier, and he’s got all of them in the palm of his hand within seconds. Rachel bounces over to harmonize with him as he hits the second chorus, their voices blending as if they were meant to, much to her clear satisfaction. Elliott joins them next, and Dani, and then Kurt looks over at Santana and raises his eyebrows, and they’re both up like a shot. Even Jody, the drummer, joins in from her hard-won spot on the couch, whipping out a harmonica from her back pocket like she’s just been waiting for an opportunity like this to arise.

 

Blaine seems delighted by the company. He plays off of them and with them and for them, and it’s so much like glee club, so much like the very best times, when everyone put their personal dramas aside and just enjoyed the music and each other, that it’s nearly painful.

 

He finishes with a flourish and grins at them happily.

 

“Thanks, guys, that was really fun.”

 

“You so have the spot,” says Rachel, slightly breathless. A chorus of nods ripples around the circle.

 

Kurt glances back at Adrian, who’s still watching them from the couch, arms folded across his chest.

 

“What Rachel means is, we’re going to have a band meeting and let you know,” amends Kurt.

 

Blaine smiles again, more polite this time than joyful.

 

“Of course. Should I – ”

 

“You can just wait in the hall for a second,” says Dani kindly. “This will be quick.”

 

Blaine nods his agreement. They wait until the door is closed, and then –

 

 _He’s perfect!_ says Rachel. _You can’t tell me he’s not perfect._

 

_Just because you want to get into his tight little pants –_

 

_He did milk that song for all that it was worth, Santana._

 

Santana shoots Dani a look, but concedes.

 

_Well, we all know what Hummel’s vote will be. Jody?_

Jody is leafing through a copy of _Rolling Stone_ , twirling her dreads absently around one finger. She doesn’t look up.

 

 _I vote yes_ , she says.

_Boys?_

 

 _He seems cool_ , says Elliott. _I say he’s in_.

 

Adrian gets up and joins them where they’re huddled around the keyboard. He slings an arm casually around Kurt’s shoulders. Maybe too casually.

 

 _I’m just the bassist_ , he says sardonically. _What do I know?_

_Okay, fine. He’s a little…sweet for us, isn’t he? I mean, he’s wearing a bowtie with monkeys on it._

_And I own a hippo brooch. What, exactly, is your point?_

_He’s mainstream. Commercial. I thought you wanted this to be something special._

_I do. Which is why I want him – you’re blind if you don’t think he’s got something special._

_Other than his ass?_

 

Kurt stiffens. Adrian didn’t mean for him to hear this last – or, at least, he didn’t send it. It was a passive thought that Kurt picked up, that he _knew_ Kurt would pick up, and that nobody else would be able to.

 

 _Don’t be an asshole_.

 

Adrian sighs.

 

 _Alright, the kid can clearly play. If you all want him in, he’s in_.

 

Rachel lets out a little cheer, and Kurt is tempted to join her. But he’s got Adrian’s arm tucking him close and his eyes watching him carefully, and Kurt knows he has to tread lightly. The last thing he wants is for Adrian to think he’s got a reason to be worried.

 

&&&&&

 

They spend the afternoon weaving Blaine into their current set list. He turns out to be a quick study, with an excellent ear for harmony and an eclectic repertoire. He blends seamlessly into the boho-pop vibe they’ve so carefully cultivated.

 

Everyone is exhausted and giddy by the end of rehearsal – with Blaine in the mix, they’re clicking better than they ever have, and sounding better, too. Even Adrian is starting to warm up to him, so much so that he doesn’t bat an eye when Kurt invites Blaine along with them to The Grounds. Kurt usually brings a stack of homework on nights like this, when Adrian is on closing shift, but Blaine will be much better company.

 

“He gets a really awesome employee discount,” wheedles Kurt, when he senses Blaine’s reluctance.

 

Blaine bites his lip.

 

“If you’re sure I won’t be imposing. I would hate to intrude on your time together.”

 

“You won’t be,” says Kurt with a dismissive wave. “He’ll be stuck at the cash register for most of the night anyway.”

 

Blaine glances at Adrian, who’s been pulled into silent conversation with Santana.

 

“Okay,” he says, with a smile. “Sounds great.”

 

The three of them chat amicably as they make their way to Williamsburg, about the band’s inception and the saga of the rotating drummers.

 

“Jody’s stuck around for about a month, now, so that’s a new record.”

 

“We had champagne last weekend to celebrate,” adds Adrian dryly.

 

“We want her to stay,” says Kurt.

 

Adrian rolls his eyes.

 

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

 

Kurt smirks. Blaine cocks his head quizzically.

 

“She’s got a thing for Elliott,” Kurt explains. “Though, honestly, after what happened between him and Luke, I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.”

 

“Wait, was Luke the one that stormed out in the middle of a gig, or the one that set his drum kit on fire?” says Blaine. His eyebrows are furrowed. Kurt resolutely does not think that it’s adorable.

 

“The latter,” he says, with a shudder.

 

The conversation takes them all the way to the café, where Adrian takes his leave with a quick kiss and goes into the back room to throw on his apron and punch in.

 

Holly is working the register, eyes wide behind oversized glasses when she sees Kurt.

 

“Kurt! Long time no see, babe.”

 

Kurt arches one eyebrow. It’s a skill he’ll never regret cultivating.

 

“I came in last week, Holly, same as always.”

 

_Whatever. You like?_

 

She turns her head to show off the vibrant pink streaks in her itsy-bitsy pigtails.

 

_It’s fabulous._

_But not nearly as fabulous as you._

_What could be? Aside from peppermint mocha you’re about to make me, of course._

_You got it, sweets. Is that a friend of yours?_

 

She nods just past Kurt’s shoulder, where Blaine is waiting patiently.

 

“Oh, yeah,” says Kurt. “This is Blaine. He’s our new keyboardist.”

 

“Cool.”

 

Blaine sticks out his hand politely.

 

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

 

She pumps his hand, short and vigorous, and looks him up and down. She smiles, a hint of intrigue in the glint of her eyes.

 

“Yeah, you too. You getting anything?”

 

“A soy latte, please. Medium.”

 

He goes to dig out his wallet, but she waves him off.

 

“Don’t bother. You’re a friend of Kurt’s.”

 

Blaine smiles. It’s a sincere smile, earnest, like he’s really, truly touched.

 

“Thank you, that’s really nice of you.” He opens his wallet anyway, and pulls out a five to stuff in the tip jar. “For the excellent service,” he says.

 

Holly raises her eyebrows, impressed.

 

“Guess I’d better start serving you, then, huh?”

 

“We’ll be at my usual table,” says Kurt, planting a steering hand on Blaine’s shoulder.

 

Adrian is at the register by the time they’ve shed their extra layers and settled into their seats. He looks particularly tall next to tiny Holly, and broad-chested, too. His tattoo is peeking out from beneath the worn fabric of his sleeve, just the dragonfly’s wing and the curl of its antenna, flexing with his bicep as he punches in his code. Kurt takes a moment to enjoy the sight before turning his attention back to Blaine. He’s startled to find Blaine watching him, warm and curious.

 

“So, how did you guys meet?” asks Blaine.

 

“Through Elliott. Adrian is his cousin. He started coming to rehearsals to help us out when our original bassist quit, but we ended up really gelling, so he just…stayed.”

 

“I’m starting to sense a theme here.”

 

“Yes, like many bands, we’ve gone through a certain amount of…transformation as we move down the path to greatness.”

 

Blaine smiles, teasing.

 

“Right. I’m sorry, go on.”

 

“There isn’t much more to tell. Adrian joined the band, he asked me out, and we’ve been together ever since. I moved in with him when the lease on the loft ran out at the beginning of October.”

 

“Oh, wow, so it’s pretty new.”

 

“The whole living together thing? Yeah, I guess it is.”

 

“Was it love at first sight?”

 

Kurt scoffs.

 

“Hardly. He’s not exactly my usual type. I only went out with him at all because – ”

 

He stops himself. He doesn’t know why he said that. This isn’t something he’s shared with anyone, much less some guy he’s only just barely met. Even if that guy is looking at him like he can see through to his soul.

 

Blaine blinks, and he looks away. A flush is starting to rise in his cheeks.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “That was rude of me. I’m usually better about eavesdropping.”

 

Kurt’s jaw drops.

 

“Eaves – but my – I didn’t feel anything, how did you – ?”

 

Blaine shifts uncomfortably.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with your shields, don’t worry, I’m just very…sensitive.”

 

He says it apologetically, but Kurt is more astonished than offended. Brittany always used to tell him that his shields were the best in the school – better even than Santana’s, which was quite the feat.

 

“It’s like you’re not even there,” she used to tell him happily. He was never sure whether or not he thought that was a good thing.

 

“I’ll say,” he says, now, for lack of anything more substantial.

 

“I really am sorry.”

 

“It’s fine. I mean – I get it. I was feeling pretty, um, loudly.”

 

Blaine tilts his head curiously.

 

“Is that what it’s like for you? You know, with…” He taps on his head with a lopsided smile.

 

“Well, yeah. I mean, I’m not, like, walking around with voices in my head all the time, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t listen in on things I shouldn’t, sometimes. You know, on accident. Usually.”

 

Blaine laughs. His posture relaxes. Kurt smiles, satisfied.

 

“You know, they say that with great power comes great responsibility,” says Blaine, a twinkle in his eye.

 

“Yes, well ‘they’ probably didn’t have great power.”

 

It’s maybe, kind of, sort of bitter. Blaine eyes him for a moment, thoughtful.

 

“So, is it just silence, for you, when your shields are working properly?”

 

“God, I wish. No, it’s more like…white noise. It’s pretty easy to ignore unless somebody is thinking particularly loudly or shielding particularly badly. Or both.”

 

Kurt makes a face. Blaine nods, eyes keen with understanding.

 

“Mine really only block the big stuff,” he says, matter-of-fact. “You know, the things that people bury deep. Everything else just kind of feels…dull. Like I’m trying to play the piano with the dampers down.”

 

“That sounds awful.”

 

Blaine smiles. It looks effortful to Kurt’s unseasoned eye.

 

“It’s not so bad. It’s better than the alternative.”

 

“Oh, god, that’s for sure. I mean, if I couldn’t shield…”

 

It would be horrible – it _was_ horrible.

 

“I can’t even imagine.”

 

“I still remember my first day of preschool – it was before my parents realized how strong my telepathy was. I walked in the door, and it was like two dozen kids started screaming in my ears, all at once. I wouldn’t let my mom leave.”

 

Blaine is listening, rapt, and this, too, is something that Kurt usually wouldn’t dream of telling someone until they’d known each other much longer than a couple of days. But Blaine is looking at him like he _knows_ , and Kurt is helpless against that.

 

“So what happened next?”

 

“Well, my mom totally freaked out, of course.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“She took me to see a specialist, who ended up referring us to this program in Columbus for kids with unusually high sensitivity.”

 

“The Phoenix School?”

 

Blaine’s eyes are practically bugging out. The school’s reputation clearly precedes it.

 

“You’ve heard of it,” says Kurt, with no small amount of surprise.

 

“It’s only one of the most prestigious telepath education programs in the country.”

 

One of the only, as well. Kurt was lucky – most of his classmates had to travel a lot farther than 100 miles.

 

It’s also not the kind of thing you tend to know about unless you have a reason to go looking.

 

“It sure beat the hell out of public school.”

 

That startles a laugh out of Blaine.

 

“I bet it was amazing,” he says. He doesn’t sigh, but he doesn’t have to. The sentiment is clear in his dreamy eyes. “Is it true that all lessons are conducted via telepathic transmission in certified quiet rooms, outfitted with the latest in extrasensory-blocking technology?”

 

He sounds like he swallowed an infomercial. Paired with his big, earnest Bambi eyes, the effect is more adorable than it has any right to be.

 

“Honestly? I don’t really remember it very well. I transferred to Lima Elementary when I was seven.”

 

“I bet you had the best shields in the entire second grade.”

 

“Please, I had the best shields in the entire school. Teachers included.”

 

“Can I ask why you left?”

 

Kurt raises an eyebrow.

 

“I think you just did.”

 

Blaine smiles a little sheepishly at that, but he doesn’t break eye contact. He watches with mild eyes and waits for Kurt to continue.

 

“My mom got sick,” Kurt says plainly, after a moment. It’s the only way he can say it. He can’t bring himself to invite pity. “What with the hospital bills and…everything, it just wasn’t practical anymore.”

 

“I’m sorry,” says Blaine, and he manages the near-impossible. He says it in a way that doesn’t make Kurt feel even an inch smaller.

 

“So, what’s your story?” says Kurt, before the moment has a chance to grow.

 

Blaine’s demeanor shifts almost imperceptibly. He glances down, and away. When he looks up, it’s through the veil of his eyelashes. He doesn’t hunch, but it’s clearly through sheer force of will. His body wants to, more than anything.

 

He clears his throat. It passes.

 

“I didn’t get any kind of real training until I was twelve,” he says. “I mean, I got the basics in school, obviously, but…”

 

“It wasn’t enough.”

 

“My doctor was convinced I just had a really bad case of ADHD. I was on medication for years before anyone thought to check my sensitivity levels.”

 

Kurt’s jaw drops. He gapes at Blaine for a long moment before he can work up the words.

 

“Oh, my god, that’s awful.”

 

It’s horrifying, actually. Male empaths are rare, and _sensitive_ male empaths practically unheard of, so it’s honestly not a surprise that it wasn’t the first conclusion they jumped to when Blaine started showing signs. But twelve _years_?

 

It’s no wonder Blaine can recite the Phoenix School’s brochure. It must have seemed like paradise after the hell he went through.

 

Blaine isn’t looking at him. He’s trying for casual nonchalance, but he’s holding his body too stiffly to succeed at that. One of his hands is balled up and resting on the table, clenching around nothing. His knuckles are starting to go white.

 

Kurt has reached out and covered it with his own before he even registers the urge. Blaine’s fingers relax immediately, and his eyes dart up to meet Kurt’s.

 

 _I’m sorry_ , Kurt tries before he remembers.

 

“Kurt! Order’s up, babe!”

 

Holly’s voice cuts through the whir of machines and the murmur of conversation around them. He and Blaine get up to retrieve their drinks, the intimacy of the moment broken.

 

Perhaps it’s for the best.

 

“So,” says Kurt, once they’re back at the table. “Are you on the market, or do I have to break the news to Rachel?”

 

Blaine laughs, perhaps a tad self-consciously. He ducks his head slightly before meeting Kurt’s gaze dead on.

 

“No, I’m definitely on the market. But also not on her team.”

 

Something flutters in Kurt’s chest at the glint in Blaine’s eyes, filtered through those pretty lashes. Kurt licks his lips.

 

“Ah. She’ll be disappointed.”

 

The conversation moves from there to more innocuous territory – shared interests, of which they have many, favorite non-touristy places in New York, Black Friday horror stories, it goes all over the map until their coffee is long gone and Adrian is ambling over to them for his break. He slides the empty chair so that he can sit oh-so-casually with his arm across Kurt’s shoulders.

 

“Hey,” he says.

 

“Hey, you. How’s it going?” says Kurt.

 

“Not too busy. Kind of boring, actually.”

 

“Holly keeping you entertained?”

 

“You know Holly. Looks like you two are having no trouble entertaining yourselves.”

 

He says it mildly, but that’s just Adrian. Everything with him is easy, whatever, go with the flow. There are times when Kurt likes that about him, but now, when his body language is reading territorial and his gaze is sharp beneath deceptively heavy lids, it’s really just annoying.

 

Kurt glances over at Blaine, who’s straightened in his chair. His smile is polite and, Kurt suspects, forced.

 

“Turns out we’ve got a lot in common,” says Kurt.

 

“Kurt’s the first person I’ve met in New York who’s as obsessed with _The Bachelor_ as I am,” adds Blaine.

 

“You might be the only two.”

 

“Adrian can’t stand it,” says Kurt, with an eye-roll for Blaine.

 

“ _No one_ can stand it.”

 

“He won’t even be in the same room with me when I watch it.”

 

“My mom was the only person I could ever get to watch it with me,” offers Blaine.

 

“My dad used to pretend to watch with me, but he only ever lasted about three minutes before he was picking up his _Sports Illustrated_.”

 

Blaine grins.

 

“He sounds awesome.”

 

“Oh, he is.”

 

“So, Blaine,” says Adrian, shifting in his chair. “How did you get into piano?”

 

Blaine pauses a moment before answering, eyes flicking over Adrian like he’s reading him. He’s clearly caught onto the unnecessary sharpness of Adrian’s tone. Part of Kurt wishes he could sense what Blaine senses.

 

“My brother took lessons for a while when he was little. He stuck with it just long enough for my parents to buy him a baby grand, and then he gave it up for the guitar.” He rolls his eyes, and Kurt has to stifle a laugh, because the look on his face is so very long-suffering. “Anyway, he taught me ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ when I got old enough, and from then on I was hooked. What about you?”

 

Adrian shrugs.

 

“Paul was my favorite Beatle.”

 

Blaine grins.

 

“Mine, too.”

 

The weird tension is broken after that, with the discovery of common ground, and the three of them talk music until Adrian’s break is over. He leaves with a lingering kiss for Kurt and a lazy smile for Blaine. It’s an improvement.

 

“I should probably get going, too,” says Blaine apologetically, after a glance at his watch. “Sam’s making lasagna for dinner, and I promised I’d be his sous chef.”

 

Kurt swallows his disappointment and covers it with a smile, and they make plans to see each other soon.

 

When Blaine walks away, the warmth seems to leech from the air.

 

Kurt tugs his scarf tighter around his neck and pulls out the sheet music for his vocal performance midterm.

 

If he has to force himself to concentrate, well – at least he succeeds.

 

&&&&&

 

Blaine fits into Kurt’s life as easily as a missing puzzle piece. They see shows together nearly every weekend and spend free afternoons marathoning Bravo over bowls of buttered popcorn (Blaine generously doesn’t say a word when Kurt scarfs down far more than his share). They go on shopping trips, and hang out at The Grounds, and make up elaborate backstories for the people passing by the window. They discover a shared love of scrapbooking that leads to hours and hours and a great deal of money spent at Blaine’s favorite crafting supplies store, not to mention a particular Friday night spent discovering that scissors and wine are not a great combination unless the end goal is permanent disfigurement.

 

They talk about anything and everything, and it’s not that they always agree, but – it’s just – it’s so easy, with Blaine. Kurt has never felt this comfortable with a person so quickly in his life.

 

Blaine gets along well with Kurt’s friends, too. Rachel, especially, adores him, and even Adrian has thawed off. Kurt can tell he doesn’t love that Kurt has started to spend so much time with Blaine, who is, after all, both attractive and single, but they have a mature relationship. Adrian trusts him.

 

It’s about six weeks into their friendship that Kurt decides that Adrian and Blaine need to get to know each other better. They see each other all the time, of course, but it’s not the same, not when their conversations rarely go deeper than small talk. It’s starting to feel wrong that they don’t _know_ each other the way that Kurt does. So, he finds a Saturday night that they’re all free and organizes a double date with Blaine and Sam at a mid-price Italian place in the Village that Kurt is pretty sure will be agreeable to all. It should at least live up to Breadstix standards.

 

“Remind me why Sam is coming?” says Adrian, as they make the short walk from the subway station. “I mean, isn’t the point for the three of us to bond?”

 

“Well, Blaine isn’t dating anyone, at least not anyone he’s told me about, and Sam is his best friend. I figured it would make things more…balanced.”

 

_I already like him, babe, I don’t think we need a buffer._

 

Adrian isn’t looking at him, but Kurt rolls his eyes anyway.

 

_I just thought it would be fun._

 

And it is. Kurt was never very close to Sam, but he’s always been good-natured, and Kurt genuinely admired the courage and strength he showed when his family hit their rough patch. Even if he did end up stripping in a Kentucky bar. It’s nice to catch up on his life, and his impressions, and hear his perspective on the fashion industry.

 

But the best part is Blaine. It takes less than three seconds of watching them interact for Kurt to know that inviting Sam was a good idea. Blaine just – he lights up around Sam, in a completely different way than he does with Kurt. He seems younger, less mature, in the best possible way. He understands all of Sam’s geeky references, even the ones that leave Kurt blinking. He unselfconsciously sprinkles in awkward frat boy slang. Everything about him is bright as sunshine.

 

Kurt would be pretty sure the two of them were dating if he didn’t know firsthand exactly how straight Sam is.

 

In fact, there’s something that Kurt would hesitate to call jealousy rearing its head weakly in his stomach. He ruthlessly cuts it down.

 

Through it all, Adrian is…himself, more or less. He clearly has less than nothing in common with Sam, but he does at least attempt to contribute to the conversation. By the end of dinner, he’s bored and not trying particularly hard to hide it, and Kurt can see in the tense set of Blaine’s shoulders as he glances in Adrian’s direction that he can feel it, too.

 

Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all. Maybe it would be better to get them to hang out alone together – ooh, Kurt could get tickets to the Imagine Dragons concert and, at the last minute, conveniently be unable to attend. Or plan another dinner, just the three of them, and leave for an important emergency phone call halfway through, or tell them he’ll meet them at the restaurant and show up an hour late.

 

He’s already worked through about half a dozen schemes by the time they pay the bill and gather their coats. He’s resolved – the next time they do this, they’re doing it right. No buffers, no distractions, just Blaine and Adrian forming the foundation of a beautiful friendship.

 

The trip home is mostly silent, but that’s pretty typical for them after a night of socializing. Adrian could be described as taciturn at the best of times. It isn’t until they get home that Kurt reads it for what it is – tension.

 

“So, what did you think of Sam?” he asks lightly, as they hang their outer things in the entryway closet.

 

Adrian doesn’t look at him.

 

“He’s nice,” he says mildly. “A little…”

 

“What?”

 

“Young.”

 

Kurt frowns.

 

“He’s, like, 10 months younger than me.”

 

“Yeah, well, you’re mature for your age. He…isn’t.”

 

“Okay?”

 

Adrian does look, then, and sees what’s starting to narrow into a glare on Kurt’s face.

 

_I have nothing against him, Kurt. He’s just not the kind of guy I would normally be friends with. That’s all._

 

_What, a sweet guy with a good sense of humor?_

_No, a guy who thinks that the_ Iron Man _series is the height of cinematic accomplishment._

_Okay, I admit that his tastes aren’t particularly sophisticated, but that doesn’t mean – he’s a really good person, Ade. If you just give him a chance -_

“Why does it matter so much to you, Kurt? You told me yourself you haven’t even spoken to the guy since high school!”

 

Kurt stares for a second, taken aback. Adrian isn’t just annoyed about this, he’s…angry. And Kurt has no idea why.

 

“Because – because he was one of the only people who was nice to me in high school, no strings attached, and it would be really great if you could manage to get down from that high horse you’ve climbed up on and show him a little respect.”

 

Adrian looks at him hard, as if he’s trying to read him, but Kurt’s shields are solid as a rock – there’s no way Adrian is getting through. Kurt looks back, coldly.

 

 _Are you sure it isn’t because of Blaine?_ says Adrian eventually.

_What are you talking about?_

_He’s Blaine’s best friend._

_Which just shows that Blaine has good taste, doesn’t it?_

_Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you’d have any interest in spending time with Sam if he and Blaine weren’t a package deal. We aren’t in high school anymore._

_No, we aren’t. Which is why I expected you to behave like an adult. I mean, Christ, I knew you were judgmental, but I had no idea you were so closed-minded._

 

Adrian raises his eyebrows incredulously and folds his arms across his chest.

 

_And I had no idea you were so desperate._

_What the hell are you talking about?_

_It’s been, what, less than two months since you started spending every waking minute with Blaine, and I feel like I hardly recognize you anymore._

Kurt stares, mouth hanging unattractively open.

 

_That’s completely ridiculous._

_No, it isn’t. You’ve changed, Kurt. For_ him _. I mean, you were singing_ Katy Perry _in the shower this morning!_

_I like her new single!_

_Since when?_

The real answer is, _Since Blaine played me his piano arrangement last weekend._

_Since forever,_ he says instead. _Has it occurred to you that maybe you don’t know every single thing about me?_

_Well, clearly, I don’t._

_Has it occurred to you that maybe that’s okay? That maybe this is an opportunity for you to get to know me better rather than making accusations and being a douche to my friends?_

 

The tension stretches between them for a long moment, until Adrian deflates. He smiles lopsidedly, contrite.

 

“You’re right,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

 

Kurt takes the offering for what it is, and goes to him. He soothes a hand over the curve of his bicep.

 

“Look, I get it. But you don’t have anything to be insecure about. Blaine just – he brings out a side of me that you don’t, I guess.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I’m still the same person.”

 

“I know.”

 

“And I won’t make you hang out with us anymore if you don’t want to.”

 

He smiles, a gentle tease, and it has the desired effect. Adrian laughs, and it lights up his face in that rare way that sends a wave of affection through Kurt’s heart.

 

“No, you’re right, I was just being an asshole. Blaine’s a cool guy.”

 

It’s not a total victory – he still says it grudgingly – but it’s enough to make Kurt’s smile broaden.

 

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

 

“Ha ha,” says Adrian dryly, before ducking down to plant a kiss on Kurt’s lips. Kurt lets his arms wind up and around Adrian’s neck. He yanks him down for more when he tries to pull away.

 

“Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs.

 

This is his very favorite part about making up.

 

&&&&&

 

By the last day of finals week, Kurt is such an over-caffeinated mess that he almost heads out for his last shift of the year in sweatpants. He’s sore all over, his hair is starting to droop even lower than his mood, and he’s pretty sure that Adrian is actually looking forward to their upcoming separation, if only to get away from the stress-induced bickering. Kurt isn’t particularly upset at the thought – he’s sure they’ll start missing each other within a couple of days of being apart. Right now, he can’t focus on anything at all but making it to those two glorious weeks of freedom. No responsibilities, no alarm clock, and no pretending to enjoy over-baked vegan desserts…god, but Kurt needs that.

 

It will be the longest stretch he’s spent in Lima since he moved away, but also the longest stretch he’s spent with his family. Not counting – well. He spent a good six weeks last spring shuttling back and forth, but that’s not something he likes to remember.

 

Adrian invited him to spend the holidays with his family in New Jersey, but the idea of leaving his parents alone, this first Christmas after… It was unthinkable.

 

Some way, somehow, he makes it through the day (the six-shot mocha he had with breakfast might have something to do with it), and then there’s a flurry of packing and goodbyes and restless sleep until he’s staring out the window on his early-morning flight.

 

And then, all of a sudden, it seems, he’s wrapped up in his dad’s strong arms, the very best comfort he knows.

 

“Welcome home, kid.”

 

For once, Kurt doesn’t feel the urge to correct him.

 

It’s a bittersweet holiday. They do their best for each other, in spite of their own raw wounds. They’re, all of them, well-versed in the art of grieving.

 

Carole has taken the put-on-a-happy-face approach, baking and bustling and making sure it looks like Santa’s elves threw up Christmas all over the walls. Kurt would be stepping in, stopping her in her tracks and directing her firmly toward an aesthetic with a little more…class, but he gets it. Christmas was Finn’s favorite holiday. He always liked things festive.

 

Kurt leaves her alone.

 

His dad is quiet. He always has been – still waters run deep, as they say – but it’s different, now. He seeks Kurt out, wants him in the same room, even when they’re doing nothing but reading together, or watching something stupid on TV. It’s like he can’t bear to let him out of his sight, now that he’s here. Kurt is happy to oblige.

 

He sticks close to home all the way through the lead-up to Christmas, and, of course, the day itself, but he knows this can only last for so long before it makes him want to crawl out of his skin. The atmosphere is too heavy, too tense beneath the forced holiday cheer, and there are too many walls penning him in. He can already feel it starting – restlessness that will lead to resentment that he’ll no doubt take out on his family.

 

He barely even makes it to full consciousness on Boxing Day before he’s reaching for his phone.

 

The decision is easy – Blaine is the only other Ohio ex-patriot who’s in town for the holidays, after all, and he made it clear that he would be grateful for an excuse to get away from his own family for a few hours.

 

His reply is almost immediate.

 

_Lima Bean, 11:00?_ _J_

 

Kurt smiles.

 

_I knew you had impeccable taste. See you then!_

 

He breathes in, deeply. The air already feels lighter.

 

&&&&&

 

Kurt is the first to arrive, but Blaine doesn’t leave him waiting long. He is, as always, quite punctual. He tosses Kurt a wave and a mega-watt smile and turns his attention to the barista to order his coffee.

 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says teasingly, as he sets his cup delicately onto the table.

 

Kurt smirks.

 

“Come here often?”

 

Kurt is going for sleazy-flirtatious, but Blaine doesn’t seem to get that memo. His smile is more thoughtful-nostalgic when he meets Kurt’s eyes.

 

“Actually, yeah, I did. I used to come here every day after school.”

 

“Isn’t Dalton, like, an hour away?”

 

“Well, yeah, but my family lives down the block. In fact, I would have gone to McKinley if my parents hadn’t heard some, um…stories from the other families in the neighborhood.”

 

Kurt blinks. That part is news to him. It sits oddly under his skin, knowing that he could have met Blaine when he was 16 and screaming, desperate for someone to hear him.

 

“Is that why you went to Dalton?”

 

Blaine shifts a little uncomfortably, but he doesn’t break eye contact for more than a moment.

 

“No, I – my parents ended up getting me into the lottery for North Lima, but it…wasn’t a good place to be out.”

 

He says it carefully, and Kurt doesn’t have to eavesdrop to read between the lines.

 

“Neither was McKinley,” he says quietly.

 

Blaine’s brow furrows in sympathy. He reaches out and covers Kurt’s hand with his own. The depth of understanding in his eyes makes it hard to look and impossible to look away.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Kurt flips his hand gently and grasps Blaine’s fingers in his.

 

“It doesn’t matter. They can’t touch us now.”

 

Blaine smiles softly. He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, the sound of a throat clearing – pointedly, obnoxiously – gets his attention. Kurt has a sharp comment ready on his tongue, but that, too, dies away when he turns to look at the intruder.

 

It’s a guy of approximately their age, handsome in a smarmy, pointy kind of way, grinning at Blaine like there’s no one else in the room. It’s clear that they know each other.

 

“Sebastian!” says Blaine, getting up hurriedly to greet him with a hug. It lingers for a hair too long, Sebastian’s hands broad on his back and starting to creep lower, until Kurt is tempted to reach out and slap them away.

 

“Long time, no see,” says Sebastian as they pull apart. Ugh, his voice is just as oily as his hair. He spares a glance for Kurt, then, a brief, dismissive glance that makes the hair on the back of Kurt’s neck prickle. “Who’s your…friend?”

 

“Oh! This is Kurt. He’s the one who founded Pamela Lansbury – you know, the band I’ve been playing with in New York?”

 

“Clearly, he has good taste,” he says, eyes never wavering from Blaine’s face.

 

Blaine presses his lips together, obviously pleased at the compliment and equally uncomfortable accepting it.

 

“He’s put together a really great group,” he says. He smiles warmly at Kurt. “He’s really talented.”

 

Kurt can’t help but smile in return.

 

“He must be, if you’re already taking him home to meet the parents,” drawls Sebastian.

 

Kurt sputters, silently, glad for once that no one’s attention is on him. And that his sloshing coffee is barely an inch off the table, and, thus, far, far away from his brand-new Paul Smith scarf.

 

“Oh, no, it’s not like that,” says Blaine easily. “Kurt has a boyfriend in New York. He’s here visiting family, same as I am.”

 

Sebastian nods, attempting nonchalance and not quite succeeding. His eyes glitter.

 

“In that case, I’m guessing you don’t have plans for New Year’s Eve.” Blaine looks a little caught off guard, but before he can formulate a response, Sebastian is plowing ahead. “Trent is throwing a Warbler reunion party. Blazers optional. The Facebook group should be up by the end of the day.”

 

“Oh, um, that’s – thank you for letting me know, but I’ll have to check my schedule.”

 

There’s a polite sheen to his voice that Sebastian seems to pick up on, too. He places a hand on Blaine’s forearm, and squeezes gently. He turns a little, as if he’s trying to edge Kurt out of the conversation.

 

“Hunter isn’t invited,” he says softly.

 

Blaine smiles up at him tightly.

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

Sebastian’s eyes rove over his face for a moment, before he turns back to face both of them, smiling flippantly.

 

“I should get going. Family bonding, you know how it is.”

 

“It was nice to meet you,” says Kurt, poison-sweet.

 

Sebastian nods curtly, a slight curl to his lip that Kurt can only take to indicate distaste.

 

“Kurt. See you soon, Blaine.”

 

He tosses Blaine a slick grin, and he squeezes Blaine’s shoulder lingeringly, one last excuse to touch, and then he’s striding away.

 

“Well,” says Kurt, once Sebastian is out of sight. “He seems…interesting.”

 

“Sorry about that. I know he can be a little out there.”

 

“Who is he, exactly?”

 

“Oh, god, that was so rude of me, I didn’t even introduce you properly. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

 

Blaine’s eyes are wide with distress at his blunder. Kurt pats his hand fondly.

 

“It’s fine, Blaine. Is he, like, an ex-boyfriend or something?”

 

Blaine grimaces slightly.

 

“Or something. He – it was complicated between us. It still is, I suppose.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Blaine hesitates.

 

“It’s kind of a long story.”

 

“I think I can handle that. As long as you allow bathroom breaks.”

 

Blaine is startled into a laugh that lights up his entire face – hell, the entire world. Kurt smiles to himself, pleased.

 

“Okay. So Sebastian, he transferred to Dalton at the beginning of our junior year, and he started…pursuing me, pretty relentlessly. It was flattering, but I – I could tell that the only thing he wanted from me was sex, and I wanted my first time to be with someone who really cared about me, and not just, you know, my ass.”

 

Kurt snorts. The description fits.

 

“So I held off for a while. It wasn’t easy – I mean, he was never very shy about letting me feel what he felt for me, and he’s…attractive.” He says it plainly, but his gaze is averted, and there’s the barest hint of a flush in his cheeks. Kurt tries to imagine what it would be like to feel someone else’s attraction to you – not just know it’s there, or sense it in his touch, but _feel_ it, in your own body. He shivers. “He joined the Warblers, and we started spending time together, and we eventually became friends. I didn’t realize – he wasn’t exactly an open book, but I trusted him, you know? He was arrogant, a bit of a – a rascal, I suppose, but underneath it all, he was a good guy. At least, he was good to me. So one night I just thought ‘why not?’ and I kind of…pounced on him. It was in the backseat of his car in the parking lot at Scandals, and I was a little drunk, so, you know, not the first time of my dreams, but he was very…talented.”

 

The flush goes darker, spreads. Kurt is biting his tongue, hard.

 

“We started messing around, and we got closer. I could feel…I mean, I knew that he wasn’t really letting me in, not entirely. He was really good at making sure I only felt what he wanted me to feel. But it was – I could tell that he cared about me, you know? He couldn’t hide that, no matter how much he wanted to. It was right on the edges of everything. So I started to get hopeful, started thinking that maybe we were getting to a place where I could call him my boyfriend, but then – ”

 

He stops, abruptly. He rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. Kurt’s got a dozen mood-lightening quips on the tip of his tongue, but he senses it’s not the time. He waits patiently, instead, and edges his shields just slightly back so that Blaine can feel his support without having to reach out for it. A stray thought from the brunette at the table next to them creeps in – _I can’t believe he stood me up, this is the last time I pin my hopes on some guy from OKCupid_ – but it’s worth it. Blaine smiles at him gratefully.

 

“It turned out he was going behind my back, spying on the other teams and stealing their set lists to give us an edge at Regionals. Practically the entire team was in on it. I got him to stop when I found out – he _swore_ he would stop – but I…well, I was an idiot. I just _believed_ him. I let him manipulate me because I liked the way he felt when I made him happy.”

 

He’s spitting his words by the end, mouth twisted with self-disgust. Kurt tries to reign in his anger, and tamp down what he knows is an entirely inappropriate sense of victory – he _knew_ it, he just knew that Sebastian was a douchebag. Blaine’s eyes snap to Kurt’s. Kurt redoubles his shields.

 

“So then what happened?” he asks neutrally.

 

“He turned right around and started blackmailing them instead.” Blaine’s expression changes, then, goes complicated and soft. “He ended up…having a change of heart before the competition. He called off his schemes and tried to make amends, but by then it was too late. I’d had enough.”

 

“I don’t blame you. God, what an asshole.”

 

“He’s not, really. I mean, yes, he acted with dubious morality, and, yes, he took advantage of me, but he really has turned over a new leaf. He’s been a really good friend to me ever since.”

 

Kurt eyes him, skeptical.

 

“Just a friend?” he finds himself asking, a sudden spike of protectiveness giving his voice an edge.

 

“Well, except for that time we hooked up on graduation night. But that was just bros helping bros.”

 

Kurt can’t help it, he laughs. His heart practically tingles with affection.

 

“So, was he your only high school dalliance, or should I expect a horde of sartorially-challenged ex-Warblers to charge in here and try and piss on your leg?”

 

Blaine rolls his eyes.

 

“No, he was the only one. I know what it looked like, but Dalton wasn’t actually crawling with gay guys.”

 

“Hm,” Kurt hums teasingly. “Too bad.”

 

“What about you?”

 

“What _about_ me?”

 

“Did you have a high school sweetheart?”

 

Kurt scoffs.

 

“Hardly. My high school love life consisted of a string of hopeless crushes on straight jocks and one date with a guy I met at Between the Sheets, who I’m pretty sure learned his kissing technique from a Great Dane.”

 

Blaine winces.

 

“Gross.”

 

“Yeah, no, it wasn’t a love connection. It doesn’t matter, though – I always knew romance wouldn’t be in the cards until I got to New York. No matter how much I wanted to be wrong.”

 

Blaine smiles warmly.

 

“I’m glad you found it, Kurt.”

 

His eyes are so clear, like colored glass. They catch the mid-day light beautifully.

 

Kurt looks away.

 

“Me, too.”

 

“Was Adrian your first?”

 

Kurt resists the urge to snort inelegantly.

 

“The first that mattered. I went out with this other guy for a few months when I first started at NYADA, but he was kind of…I mean, there wasn’t really anything _there_ after a while, and he kept trying to push things, and…it went on a lot longer than it should have. I ended up breaking up with him after I met Adrian.”

 

“How scandalous.”

 

“Believe me, things had run their course.”

 

It’s an understatement. Kurt was actively avoiding him by the end – it was easy, given the circumstances. Adam was always so very accommodating.

 

Blaine must be able to sense the sudden blackening of Kurt’s mood, because his eyes have gone big with concern, and he’s hunched forward, as if he would move closer if the table weren’t between them.

 

“Kurt?” he asks – uncertain, and warm, and entirely safe.

 

It hurts Kurt to do it, but he looks away. Again.

 

“I thought you didn’t like to eavesdrop,” he says crisply.

 

“I didn’t have to.”

 

Blaine’s gaze remains steady. Kurt can feel it.

 

Kurt sighs, then, shuddery and sad. He wishes, fruitlessly, that they could talk mind to mind, like he would with anyone else. The things he wants to tell Blaine feel too intimate to say out loud.

 

He looks at Blaine. He does it anyway.

 

“It was about two months after Finn died,” he says quietly.

 

“Your step-brother?”

 

Kurt nods.

 

“I was still pretty messed up about it. I wasn’t in a good place. I – I didn’t treat either of them very well.”

 

Blaine doesn’t respond, doesn’t reassure, at least not with words. He takes Kurt’s hand again, and he squeezes. Kurt can feel the stupid, warm rush of tears forming in his eyes. He blinks them away, harshly, and squeezes back.

 

“I used them – both of them, in their own ways – to get out of dealing with it.”

 

“I’m sure they forgave you.”

 

“Adam kicked me out of his a capella group. Which was good, actually, because their arrangements really sucked.”

 

Blaine laughs.

 

“Clearly, it was his loss.”

 

Kurt smiles.

 

“Clearly.”

 

The mood between them is lighter, after that. They avoid talk of families, or exes, and stick to safe topics that keep them laughing. They make it through an in-depth dissection of the _Sing-Off_ finale, a round of juicy NYADA gossip (which drives Blaine to shocking cattiness), and a full-scale makeover for the table of frat boys by the window before Kurt starts to feel guilty. As much as he’d love nothing more than to spend all day here, with Blaine, he can’t ignore his family obligations.

 

Blaine is understanding, of course, and sends along his best wishes.

 

“Don’t hesitate to call if you need me,” he says earnestly, as they part ways.

 

Kurt smiles.

 

“I won’t.”

 

&&&&&

 

Carole is sitting on the couch when Kurt gets home. His dad is out – at the garage, probably. The house is quiet. She’s alone, and looking down at something in her lap.

 

She looks up when Kurt comes in. Her eyes are red, her mascara dried in runs over her cheeks. Kurt swallows, and he goes to her.

 

“What are you doing?” he asks gently. She seems so fragile right now. He doesn’t want to break apart any of the pieces she’s put so painstakingly back together over the past eight months.

 

She smiles. It’s heart-achingly real – nothing cheerful, or festive, or fake about it.

 

“I’ve just been looking at photos,” she says.

 

Kurt looks down and sees a photo album, splayed open over her lap. It’s thick, almost bursting with pages. The ones she’s looking at are dated April-May 2001. They’re full of a boy with sandy hair and a wide smile.

 

Kurt sits next to her, leans in close. He takes one side of the book into his lap, his fair share of the weight.

 

 _Tell me about him_ , he murmurs.

 

Tears trickle down through her smile. She takes his face in one hand and presses a kiss to his forehead. The look she gives him speaks of nothing so much as motherly pride. He blinks away his own tears and sinks down so that he can rest his head against her shoulder, and he thinks that maybe he was wrong – maybe she isn’t the fragile one.

 

He sits there for hours, letting her spin her memories and give them to him to keep safe.

 

He isn’t her son, not really, but he’s the only one she has.

&&&&&

 

It’s New Year’s Eve, and Kurt might be a little bitter that he’s stuck sitting on the couch with his parents, waiting for the ball to drop.

 

If he were in New York, he’d be with Adrian now, at a loft party, maybe, or a gathering at one of Adrian’s friends’ places. There would be drinking, and someone would start passing around a pipe, and someone else would produce a guitar, and Kurt would be so busy singing and laughing and enjoying the feel of his boyfriend’s long arms wound around his waist that he’d barely even notice the unpleasant buzzing in his head until well after the countdown to midnight.

 

If his high school friends were in town, they’d be doing karaoke in Rachel’s basement. He’d have invited Blaine, and Blaine would be charming the pants off of everyone, even as he competed with Rachel for the title of best stage-hog. He and Kurt would sing duets, and dance together, and take breaks together on Rachel’s front porch.

 

But Kurt is still here, in Lima, and his friends are scattered all over the country. Blaine is at a house party with his Warbler friends and his prowling ex-whatever.

 

Kurt shifts, restless. Five minutes till midnight.

 

Last year, he and Rachel shared a bottle of champagne and wobbled their way to Times Square to see the ball drop live. The place was crawling with tourists clotting the air with their thoughts, and the ball was little more than a glittery speck in the distance, but it was hard not to get caught up in the racing pulse of the crowd. He didn’t even let it bother him that he didn’t have anyone to kiss at midnight. He knew anyway, deep in his gut – this was going to be his year. 2013, the year his life would really start.

 

It feels as if he’s aged centuries since then.

 

The weird tension in the air has eased into a haze of melancholy since that afternoon he spent with Carole. It’s better, but still…draining. It’s hard work, fighting through it, and the three of them have really only just begun figuring out how their ripped seams fit together.

 

It’s not that Kurt isn’t happy to do it – he’s just so _weary_ , and he’s been cooped up all week, and he’s pretty sure he’s nearing the edges of his sanity.

 

He would do anything to get out of his own head, tonight.

 

Two minutes.

 

And yet, somehow, slumped against his dad on their lumpy old relic of a couch, Carole’s hand clasping his and resting, together, over his dad’s steady-beating heart, Kurt starts to feel it again. It cuts through him, lightning-quick and just as burning – _hope_.

 

 

They murmur the countdown together and toast their Pellegrino on the zero, and then his parents are sharing a bittersweet New Year’s kiss. They pull him in for a hug, after, whispers of _Happy New Year_ and _I love you_ and _let’s make him proud_ passing between their minds as they take comfort in the warm press of family.

 

It’s well before the confetti has settled to the ground on their TV screen that his dad and Carole decide to call it a night. Kurt leaves the television on as background noise as he constructs a mass New Year’s text for his friends and a special one for Adrian. Most of them respond right away, with varied degrees of spelling accuracy.

 

Adrian sends back, _Wish I was there to kiss you into the New Year_.

 

Kurt smiles.

 

 _Among other things_ , he writes.

 

_Morning Skype date?_

 

His smile widens.

 

_I suppose that will have to do._

 

They set up a time and bid each other goodnight, and Kurt is about to turn off the TV and head up to get ready for bed when his phone buzzes once again.

 

It’s from Blaine. Kurt opens the text, expecting to see some sort of uncharacteristically misspelled garble of a New Year’s message, because Blaine’s a total lightweight and never seems to know it.

 

That’s not quite what he gets.

 

_kurt youshuld be here_

_On my way to bed, drunky. Tell me about it tomorrow?_

 

_i wnat to live here kurt_

 

Kurt snorts.

 

_I’m not sure your friend’s parents would be cool with that, to be honest._

 

A minute passes, and then another, and Kurt is just about to pocket his phone when it buzzes again.

_theyshould havve karokeeeeee_

_I’m sure the Warblers would be more than happy to back you up, should you feel the need to burst into song._

_i shoud call them_

Kurt pauses. He narrows his eyes.

_Wait, where are you right now?_

_scandlssss best new yars eveer_

It takes him a moment, but his heart jolts in his chest with foreboding when he decodes the message.

 

_Blaine, is someone with you?_

_yeah lotssssssss_

 

Kurt huffs.

_Someone you know?_

_i know everyone now thats why itsssso beautfl_

Kurt has had enough. He jabs at the call button and shoots up to pace.

 

Blaine answers after three rings. Kurt can barely hear him over the bar noise – men whooping and shouting, and music blasting in the background.

 

“Kurt!”

 

His voice is happy and slurry, and it would make Kurt smile if he weren’t so worried.

 

“Blaine, can you go somewhere quieter?”

 

“What? Kurt, I can’t hear you, Kurt.”

 

“Go somewhere quiet, Blaine.”

 

It’s just short of shouting – he’s pretty sure his parents aren’t asleep yet, but he’d rather not explain this to them right now.

 

“I’m gonna go outside.”

 

There’s a pause in which the noise crests and then quiets. Kurt is pretty sure Blaine is saying something, but it’s impossible to make out.

 

“Blaine, can you hear me, now?”

 

“Kurt! Are you gonna come dance with me?”

 

“I don’t think so. Do you have someone there who can drive you home?”

 

“Oh. Prol – probably.”

 

Kurt breathes in, breathes out, quelling his frustration.

 

“Do you need me to come get you?”

 

“You should come dance!”

 

Kurt is already by the door, attempting to shove his feet into his boots. It’s harder one-handed than he anticipated.

 

“I’ll be there in 15 minutes. Tops. Just – stay there, okay?”

 

“Okay! Bye, Kurt!”

 

He hangs up abruptly, before Kurt has the chance to say anything else. He shoves his phone in his pocket and throws on his winter coat. He considers leaving his dad a note, but he’s uncomfortable leaving Blaine alone with the wolves for even a second longer than he has to. Instead, he grabs his keys from the hook by the door and leaves the house as quietly as he can.

 

It’s not a long drive from his house to West Lima, but the streets are full of drunk people who should under no circumstance be behind the wheel, and urgency is making his heart pound. It feels like it’s been hours by the time he pulls into the parking lot.

 

Kurt has been here before, once, just after Christmas his senior year. Rachel and Mercedes practically dragged him there during their last sleepover of the year, after he complained that he was tired of listening to them moan about their boy problems when he’d never even had a boy at all. He rolled his eyes and protested vehemently, but he was secretly kind of looking forward to it – a place where there were people like him, where he could feel accepted, understood, in a way that even his glee friends couldn’t give him. Not to mention the prospect of hot guys who might actually welcome Kurt’s eyes on their bodies.

 

It wasn’t quite that, much to Kurt’s disappointment. It was more just…trashy. Just a dive bar full of middle-aged men drowning their sorrows and eyeing up the smattering of college kids who’d stumbled in for an adventure. Nothing interesting about it, or glamorous, and nobody close to his age who even remotely caught his eye. The guys who ran their eyes over him were far more creepy than enticing.

 

The only good thing to come out of the evening was a surprisingly nice run-in with Dave Karofsky, of all people, but even that is unpleasant to think about, now, when Kurt knows what chain of events it set off.

 

He hasn’t been back since.

 

He parks in one of the few remaining spaces and takes a moment to brace his shields before heading in.

 

He flashes his fake ID to the bored bouncer and gets waved through, and then it’s utter chaos. The place is full to the brim, the dance floor packed so densely Kurt can barely squeeze through. It’s hot, and loud, and Kurt’s head is already buzzing.

 

It doesn’t take him long to find Blaine – it never does. Blaine takes up so much more space than just his body, draws people to him like his gravity is just a little bit stronger than everyone else’s. Now, he’s at the bar, perched on a bar stool and chatting with some guy that looks about 25, who’s looking at him like he wants to eat him whole.

 

Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, of course, but Blaine is – the closer Kurt gets, the more he’s convinced, this is more than just being drunk. Blaine is flushed, his forehead glistening with pinpricks of sweat, his eyes wide and eerily bright, a glassy sheen to them that’s visible from five feet away. He’s almost…vibrating, it seems, his whole body giving off a manic sort of energy that puts Kurt on edge.

 

The guy moves in, places a deliberate hand high on Blaine’s thigh. Blaine bats his eyes and leans in closer, the flush deepening high in his cheeks. And Kurt just – no. That’s absolutely not happening. He moves into range, finally, and removes the guy’s hand with a tight smile. He means it as a warning. The guy crosses his arms over his chest, disgruntled.

 

“Kurt!” says Blaine, before either of them can say anything at all. There’s a breathiness to his voice that wasn’t there before. His chest is pumping quick and shallow. “Kurt, you came!”

 

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

 

Blaine blinks, doll-like. His eyes have been swallowed almost entirely by his pupils.

 

“Did you?”

 

“Yes, Blaine, I did. And I think maybe it’s time for us to be heading home.”

 

Blaine’s expression crumples, sudden and devastating.

 

“But you just got here! We haven’t even danced yet.”

 

“I think you’ve had enough dancing for tonight, don’t you?”

 

Blaine laughs, like it was a joke.

 

“No such thing. You know that, Kurt Hummel.”

 

He smiles at Kurt flirtatiously and brings up one clumsy hand to trail over the edge of Kurt’s collar and down to his bicep. Kurt doesn’t shiver under the heat of his fingers, but he can’t help but let his eyes drift closed, just for a second.

 

The guy clears his throat.

 

“Oh!” says Blaine. “Kurt, this is, um…”

 

“Patrick,” the guy says patiently.

 

“Patrick! This is Patrick. He just bought me a drink.” He holds up a tumbler half-full of brown liquid, sloshing some of it over the edge. “It’s a – what is it?”

 

“Rum and coke,” says Patrick, amused. His eyes go sticky as they linger over Blaine’s lips.

 

“’S really good. You should try some.” Blaine holds out his glass to Kurt, smile wide and eager. Kurt takes it, but doesn’t take a sip.

 

“How many of these have you had?”

 

“I don’t know, I lost track. They’re really _good_.”

 

“I’m sure they are.”

 

Kurt looks back to Patrick, levels him his most intimidating glare. It isn’t difficult – worry and rage have coalesced into something hot beneath Kurt’s skin that’s begging for an outlet.

 

“Did you put something in his drink?” he demands, voice trembling with it.

 

Patrick’s eyes widen. He puts up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

 

“Whoa, man, I didn’t touch it. That’s all him.”

 

Kurt reaches out to eavesdrop without a second thought, unwilling to take this guy at his word.

 

 _…not my fault his boyfriend is a slutty drunk_.

 

He draws back, tempted to curl his lip and snap back something about douchebags who prey on people who clearly aren’t capable of giving consent, but he turns his attention to Blaine instead.

 

“Blaine, did you take something tonight?” he says, attempting and largely failing to keep his tone gentle. “Besides alcohol, I mean.”

 

Blaine just looks sad in response, sympathetic, almost…lucid beneath the hectic fever-brightness of his eyes. He takes Kurt’s hand. His palm is clammy, and his fingers are trembling.

 

“Shh, Kurt, it’s okay, you don’t have to be scared,” he soothes. “I’m alright. I didn’t do anything, I didn’t even drink that much, I’m just…” He closes his eyes, breathes in long and deep. The smile on his face is nothing short of ecstasy. “I’m just letting go. I’m letting myself _feel_.”

 

Kurt swallows. Oh, god. That is _not_ reassuring.

 

“Okay,” he says lightly, a poor cover for his panic. “Let’s go feel the nice cool air outside, shall we?”

 

Kurt doesn’t find out what Blaine’s response would have been, because the song changes, and Blaine lights up like a jolt of electricity has passed through his body. He squeezes Kurt’s hand and grins broadly.

 

“This is my song,” he says. “I love this song. Come dance with me.”

 

His eyes are soft, encouraging, pleading, like he could pull Kurt into his happy place, if only Kurt would let himself give in. Kurt can’t bring himself to look away. There’s a part of him that’s starting to waver.

 

_Come on, I want you to feel it, I want us to feel it together_

 

It blares in his head, loudly, clumsily, and a sea of heads turns reflexively in their direction. And as nice as it is to hear Blaine’s voice in his head, finally, no matter the way it makes Kurt twist up inside, he knows what it means.

 

He goes cold.

 

He shouldn’t be able to hear Blaine at all. Blaine can’t transmit, and Kurt’s shields are standing strong. Blaine’s thoughts should be nothing but white noise, no matter how loudly he shouts them. His shields must be – oh, god, he’s not even trying. He’s _dropped_ them, left himself vulnerable as a kitten caught in the eye of a hurricane.

 

“No, Blaine, I told you I don’t want to dance. We need to – ”

 

Blaine’s eyes flash.

 

“Fine, then Patrick will dance with me.”

 

He hops off of his stool, swaying slightly, and grabs Patrick’s wrist to drag him out to the floor. Patrick doesn’t complain.

 

Blaine doesn’t look back.

 

Kurt watches, helpless, panic holding him in place.

 

_The sky is dark, the wind is cold,_

_The night is young,_

_Before it’s old and gray,_

_We will know the thrill of it all…_

 

Roxy Music. It’s not surprising – Blaine has a major thing for ‘70s art rock.

 

It’s not a particularly easy song to dance to, but that doesn’t seem to matter to the writhing masses. With the exception of some bouncing baby gays in the corner, the crowd seems to see the music as little more than an excuse for public grinding.

 

Blaine has his head tossed back, his eyes closed and his mouth fallen softly open. His arms are twined around Patrick’s shoulders, and his body moving to the driving beat. Patrick’s hands are roaming all over Blaine’s torso as he moves in, closer and ever closer, as if he’s been starving to touch. Finally, they find a resting place on the swell of Blaine’s ass, and he pulls, and then his thigh is planted firmly between Blaine’s. Blaine grins, blissed out and hazy. It isn’t until now that the sway of his body seems lewd.

 

Kurt’s hands are curled into fists, nails digging painfully into his palm. His skull is practically vibrating with the force of the thoughts trying to beat their way in – he’s starting to get dizzy from it, and feel the pounding edges of a killer headache. He wants to leave, wants to drag Blaine out of here if he has to, but he’s starting to feel hazy, too, like his thoughts are moving through custard. Even though there’s a part of him that’s panicking at this, knows how this will end if he does nothing at all, he can’t seem to make himself move.

 

_Every time I hear the latest sound,_

_It’s pure whiskey, reeling round and around my brain,_

_Oh, and all that jive, it’s driving me wild,_

_The dizzy spin I’m in…_

 

Blaine is still moving, still dancing, but droplets of sweat have started to form tracks tracing over his skin, and the heaving of his chest has quickened. Patrick is hunched slightly over, face buried into Blaine’s skin where his shoulder meets his neck, body draped possessively over Blaine’s as he rolls his hips. Blaine’s head tips farther back, exposing the beautiful line of his throat, and he gasps visibly. A bead of sweat is wending its way around the curve of his Adam’s apple.

 

Kurt closes his eyes. He tries to will away the awful, jittering throb of his shields as they start, very slowly, to buckle.

 

_So if you’re feeling fraught with mental strain,_

_Too much thinking’s got you down again,_

_Well, let your senses skip, stay hip, keep cool,_

_To the thrill of it all…_

 

It would be so easy to just stop.

 

_When you try too much, you lose control,_

_Pressure rises and so I’m told_

_Something’s got to give,_

_Oy vey, high life ecstasy,_

_You might as well live…_

 

He could let go, he could, he could drop his own shields, and in some ways it would be a relief. A different kind of pain, at least. A different kind of insanity.

 

He opens his eyes.

 

There’s another guy there, now, a third, grinding against Blaine from behind. His muscular arms are wrapped around Blaine’s chest. They’re pressed so close, the three of them, that Blaine’s body is barely visible between. His head lolls where it rests on the new guy’s shoulder. In fact – oh – a cold-hot spike of rage very suddenly clears the haze in Kurt’s brain, because –

 

Blaine is _limp_ between them. His arms are hanging uselessly from their sockets, swaying to the rhythm set by the bodies holding him up, using his for pleasure.

 

_…So I will drink my fill, till the thrill is you…_

 

Kurt stalks over to them, weaving roughly around the couples who don’t get out of his way.

 

 _Get off of him_ , he says, forcibly.

 

Their heads snap to him.

 

 _What the fuck, dude?_ says the nameless new guy. His hips stutter, but, if anything, he only tightens the grip of his fingers.

 

 _Get your_ fucking _paws off of my friend before I call the cops and get you arrested for sexual assault._

 

That gets his attention. He backs away, lifting his hands in surrender.

 

 _Whatever, man,_ he says, wide-eyed, as he makes a hasty exit. _You’re fucking crazy_.

 

Blaine’s body tilts dangerously, and Kurt darts in to brace his weight.

 

Patrick is frozen.

 

_Holy shit, is he, like, passed out?_

 

Kurt doesn’t spare him a glance, too busy feeling for a pulse with fingers that won’t stop shaking.

 

 _What the hell did you expect?_ he snaps venomously. It’s only mostly aimed at Patrick.

 

And there, oh thank god, there it is, faint and fluttering, just like the breath pumping too-quick between Blaine’s parted lips.

 

Patrick extricates himself, _Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit_ on repeat, and practically runs away, shoving Blaine’s weight fully onto Kurt. There’s a moment when Kurt staggers, and he’s sure that they’re both going down, but then Blaine’s eyelids flicker, and then they open, and his fingers clutch into the back of Kurt’s shirt. Kurt catches his footing.

 

“Kurt?” murmurs Blaine, just barely audible. His breath is coming stronger, now, in short, harsh gasps. His body is wracked with tremors, his heartbeat hummingbird-fast. His eyes are scared.

 

“I’m here,” says Kurt. “I’m here, and we’re getting you out, okay?”

 

Blaine murmurs his agreement, but it sounds more like a whimper.

 

They make their way to the door as quickly as they can, Blaine leaning most of his weight into Kurt, and Kurt shoving one-handed to clear their way. This isn’t the time to be polite.

 

And then, finally, finally, they’ve made it out to the cold, dark night air. Kurt leans them against the brick exterior and takes a moment to just revel in the near-silence inside his head.

 

Blaine’s breathing starts to even out, slowly, and his color starts to look more natural.

 

“Better?” asks Kurt, as gently as he can, given the residual panic that’s running through his blood.

 

Blaine nods.

 

“Yeah,” he manages. He looks at Kurt, and he looks…not sober, exactly, but way less scary. “Can we…?” He gestures weakly toward the parking lot, and Kurt nods fervently.

 

“Yeah. Let’s – how did you get here, anyway?”

 

“I drove. But I don’t think…”

 

“No, no, you’re definitely not driving. I’ll give you a ride, and you can get your car tomorrow, okay?”

 

Blaine nods. He looks utterly exhausted.

 

“Okay. But – can we…not go home? Not yet? I just, I feel…”

 

He doesn’t have to explain.

 

“Yeah, whatever you want,” says Kurt hastily. “Wherever you want. Let’s just – can we get out of here?”

 

Blaine agrees, and he can mostly support his own weight, now, but Kurt slips a protective arm around his waist just in case. Blaine lets him.

 

They don’t talk until they’re both buckled in and Kurt is poised with his key in the ignition.

 

“So,” he says, tentatively. “Where to?”

 

Blaine has his head tipped back against the headrest, eyes closed.

 

“I don’t care. Somewhere open, where there won’t be any people.”

 

Kurt nods, even though he knows Blaine can’t see him.

 

“Do you want me to roll down the window?”

 

Blaine swallows.

 

“Please?” he says. His voice is small.

 

Kurt tries his best to tamp down his worry – he knows Blaine will feel it, and he’s so…sensitive right now, raw and tattered. Kurt rolls down all four windows and does his best to ignore the chill.

 

Kurt takes a moment to run the options through his sluggish brain until he hits on one that fits the bill.

 

The drive is completely silent, but for the rush of wind past the windows and the far-off whoops of idiots who don’t seem to have realized that midnight was over an hour ago. The closer they get to the deserted country roads, the more relaxed Blaine seems to get, his expression smoothing to resemble something peaceful.

 

Kurt pulls over, eventually, onto a wide, familiar shoulder. Blaine blinks his eyes open and looks over at Kurt questioningly.

 

“Where are we?” he asks.

 

“Somewhere open, like you asked.”

 

“Right. Thank you.”

 

“My dad used to bring me out here to look for shooting stars, after my mom died. He tried to convince me that God had put her in charge of the light show, and that all of them were for me.”

 

“Didn’t work, huh?”

 

“I humored him for a while, but…no. I already knew God was a fairytale.”

 

Blaine doesn’t speak for a moment. Kurt turns to look at him. Blaine looks back, and smiles faintly.

 

“My dad tried to teach me the constellations when I was a kid, but I always liked the ones I made up better than the real ones.”

 

Kurt laughs. Blaine sounds like himself, finally, if a low-affect version of himself. He’s still slightly slurry, but it’s hard to tell if it’s the lingering alcohol or the bone-deep weariness that’s causing it. Probably both.

 

Kurt unbuckles his seatbelt and looks at Blaine, eyebrows raised.

 

“Shall we?”

 

Blaine nods, and follows suit, and they climb out of the car and onto the hood, stretching out and looking up at the vast, starry sky. Blaine breathes in deep and closes his eyes. He opens them on the exhale.

 

“I’m sorry about tonight,” he says. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with this.”

 

“I’m glad you texted me, Blaine. You’re my best friend – of course I want to help you.”

 

Blaine doesn’t look at him, but his expression goes soft and sweet.

 

“You’re mine, too.”

 

Kurt studies Blaine’s face, swallowing down the emotion that’s risen up to choke him. Still, Blaine looks up at the stars. Kurt resists the urge to reach out and touch him. He follows Blaine’s gaze, and he breathes.

 

“Can you tell me what happened?” he asks, carefully.

 

Blaine sighs, resigned.

 

“I suppose I owe you that much, don’t I?”

 

“It would help.”

 

Blaine doesn’t say anything right away. Kurt lets him have the moment of silence he needs to gather his thoughts.

 

“Do you ever get tired of it?” asks Blaine, eventually. “You know, being so vigilant all the time.”

 

“Well, yeah, of course I do. I mean, I hate that I have to put so much energy into shielding when it’s just…an afterthought to most people. I hate that even my best isn’t good enough sometimes and I have to – to run away to protect myself. Of course I get tired of it.”

 

“Do you ever just want to – just _stop_?”

 

Kurt pauses, mouth frozen around his “no.” He remembers that feeling, that temptation he felt not half an hour ago, when he was under attack and it took everything he had to keep his shields intact against the onslaught. He cringes.

 

“Sometimes. But I can’t – it would be so much worse, if I did.”

 

“What’s it like?”

 

“What?”

 

“You know, without your shields. What’s it like?”

 

“Like…I don’t know, like everybody in the room is shouting in my ears at once, telling me things I don’t want to know, and have no business knowing. Like I’ve violated them, but they’re violating me, too, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it except get out, and get _away_.”

 

It feels good to say it like this, plainly, without softening the sharp edges of his tone. Most people who ask do it out of a misplaced sense of awe – _how cool, to have that kind of power, how lucky you must be_. Kurt’s never felt lucky.

 

“That sucks.”

 

“I know.”

 

“That’s not what it’s like for me.”

 

Kurt turns to look at him. Blaine’s face is impassive in the low light of the stars, his voice measured.

 

“What is it like, then?” asks Kurt.

 

“It’s…you know that moment when you’re on stage, and you look out at the audience, and you just, you _know_ – you’ve got them, they’re with you, they’re feeling exactly what you’re feeling?”

 

He glances over at Kurt. Kurt nods. He lives for that feeling – there’s nothing like it.

 

When Blaine speaks again, his voice has taken on a dreamy quality that puts Kurt ill at ease. His eyes are far away.

 

“It’s like that, but…more. I feel – I’m not just me anymore. I’m connected, to everybody, and it’s – _everybody_ is beautiful, you know?”

 

Kurt doesn’t, at all. He watches, fascinated, as Blaine’s face contorts with something like longing.

 

“Even the people who feel ugly things, they still _feel_. They’re still a part of me. Cutting myself off from that feels like cutting out pieces of my heart. I _hate_ it.”

 

Kurt waits, but Blaine doesn’t say anything more. His eyes are closed and Kurt can tell, he can feel it – Blaine has gone somewhere distant. Maybe up amongst the stars. Kurt wants to grab him by the ankle and pull him back down.

 

“Okay, I get that, I think. But you can’t just – your shields keep you safe, Blaine.”

 

“They keep me numb.”

 

“They keep you _alive_ ,” says Kurt, more harshly.

 

Blaine looks at him. His eyes are practically gleaming in the weird, pale light of the moon. His gaze is steady, and present. He reaches out and grasps Kurt’s hand in his.

 

“I know.”

 

And he does – Kurt may not be able to feel Blaine’s fear, but he can see it, and he can sure as hell feel his own. An echo of their shared experience, passed between them.

 

“So, what happened tonight?” Kurt asks again, gently.

 

Blaine sighs, and looks away.

 

“It was stupid.”

 

“Tell me anyway.”

 

“The party, it was…worse than I was expecting.”

 

“What were you expecting?”

 

“Some tension, maybe, some uncomfortable silences. There were some…issues, my senior year, that never really got resolved, but I kind of figured most of the guys would be over it by now.”

 

Kurt nods knowingly.

 

“No one holds a grudge better than a high school show choir.”

 

“Yeah,” says Blaine, ruefully. He turns to face Kurt, who tries his very best to look open, and nonjudgmental. He knows how hard it can be for Blaine to be forthcoming. “We had this new recruit who somehow convinced a bunch of the guys that they had to shoot up performance-enhancing drugs in order to win Sectionals.”

 

“Oh, my god.”

 

“I know, right? I tried to talk them out of it, but nothing would change their minds. Not even the frankly terrifying brochure I found on testicular shrinkage.” Kurt grimaces. Ew. “Honestly, I probably would have boycotted the competition if Sebastian hadn’t talked me out of it. But then there was that whole mess with New Directions, and I managed to win the guys over with an impassioned speech about taking it as an opportunity to restore our honor. We convinced the board to give New Directions the extra spot they deserved at Regionals and worked our asses off to get ourselves a clean victory, but, well…they beat us, fair and square. The guys weren’t too happy with me, as you can imagine. They started giving all of the solos to Hunter, and, believe me, that guy was seriously unstable. He once tried to stab me with a pencil.”

 

“Jesus, that’s – a pencil?”

 

“’Roid rage,” says Blaine darkly.

 

Kurt blinks. He decides he doesn’t want to know.

 

“What a bunch of ingrates,” he says. “I shudder to think what would have become of them if you hadn’t been there to save them from themselves.”

 

“Yeah, well. In any case, there was a lot more animosity tonight than I expected. I drank more than I should have, and Sebastian kept re-filling my glass, and then, finally, I just decided I wanted to be around people who actually _wanted_ me. So I took off, and I went to Scandals, and everything just…spiraled out of control.”

 

“I’m glad you texted me,” says Kurt, again, quietly.

 

“Thank you for being my knight in shining armor.”

 

They share a tentative smile.

 

“Don’t mention it.”

 

There’s a long stretch of silence after that. Kurt looks up at the sky. He finds the Big Dipper, and the Little Dipper. He never learned any of the others.

 

“So,” says Blaine. “What do you see?”

 

Kurt glances over. Blaine has a twinkle in his eye and a quirk to his lip, and his face has so much life all of a sudden that it catches Kurt’s breath. Kurt gapes for a moment, about to say something inane, he’s certain, but then Blaine looks up to the sky and makes his meaning clear.

 

Right.

 

Kurt thinks for a moment, studying, until a shape resolves itself from amongst the infinite pinpricks of light. It’s like connect the dots – Kurt was always good at that.

 

“There,” he says, satisfied. “A skull.”

 

Blaine raises his eyebrows.

 

“How morbid.”

 

“Like Alexander McQueen, not – ”

 

“A decomposed body?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Blaine smiles.

 

“Show me.”

 

“Okay. Look.” Kurt scoots closer, until they’re shoulder to shoulder, and he raises his hand to point. Blaine tilts his head. His hair is curling at the ends, and it tickles Kurt’s ear. His eyes follow Kurt’s finger up to the stars. “So, you start here – you see that bright one just to the left of the Big Dipper?”

 

Blaine nods. It sends a shiver down Kurt’s spine. Kurt traces out the shape, and Blaine follows attentively.

 

“Very nice,” he says. “Impressive, even, for your first try.”

 

Kurt turns, just enough to meet Blaine’s eyes. He raises his eyebrows in challenge.

 

“You think you can do better?”

 

“Well, I do have more experience.”

 

Blaine’s face is close, so close that the tips of their noses are nearly touching. Kurt can see the scrunched up smile in Blaine’s eyes and smell the stale liquor on his breath.

 

“Alright, show me what you’ve got, hotshot.”

 

Blaine looks up to the sky, and it’s only seconds before he’s tracing over a dragon in flight.

 

Kurt counters with a werewolf mid-transformation.

 

Blaine finds Pamela Anderson next, and then Kurt is laughing too hard to point out that it’s more just a stick figure with balloon boobs and a bouffant.

 

“Alright,” he says, finally, with a grin that refuses to fade. “I concede. You’re clearly a master.”

 

“Clearly. But you were a worthy competitor.”

 

Blaine inclines his head with a teasing smile, and they settle into silence once more. Blaine doesn’t move away, and neither does Kurt. If anything, he moves closer. It’s nice to feel Blaine’s body heat.

 

“Have you ever done anything with your telepathy that you shouldn’t have?” asks Blaine, after a time.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I don’t know, like, used it to cheat on a test or something.”

 

Kurt laughs, perhaps a tad unkindly.

 

“Believe me, that was never a temptation. The guy who sat next to me in French my junior year once asked me what ‘bonjour’ meant. The school was not a brain trust.”

 

“Quelle horreur.”

 

Kurt smiles. Blaine’s accent isn’t terrible. He at least attempts the ‘r,’ which is more than he can say for any one of his high school classmates.

 

“I cheated at _Go Fish_ for months when I was in second grade,” he admits begrudgingly. “Until my teacher found out and gave me a pointed talk about honesty. You?”

 

Blaine laughs.

 

“My brother let me play poker with him and his friends once. I was eight, or maybe nine, and he was supposed to be babysitting. I won enough money off of them to buy myself my first iPod.”

 

Kurt whistles.

 

“I’m guessing they never asked you back.”

 

“Cooper wouldn’t speak to me for a week. Or even around me. If I walked into the room, he would switch to transmission.”

 

Blaine is still smiling at the memory, albeit ruefully, but that sounds kind of harsh to Kurt.

 

“You must hate it when people transmit around you.”

 

“I’m used to it.”

 

“Still.”

 

“It really only bothers me when people forget that I can’t, you know? And then they remember, and they look at me like…I mean, it’s not like empathy is some sort of disability.”

 

Kurt looks at him, taken aback at the sudden bitterness in his tone.

 

“I know that.”

 

Blaine sighs.

 

“I know, I’m sorry, that wasn’t aimed at you.”

 

“It’s fine. I get it. People can really suck.”

 

Blaine laughs.

 

“Yeah.”

 

They share a smile. Kurt looks down, instinctive protection from what he’s about to say. He meets Blaine’s eyes again and feels…safe.

 

“I didn’t have many friends, growing up.” His voice is quieter than he would like, but steady nonetheless. “Nobody wanted to be around the freak who could listen to their innermost secrets without even trying. Never mind that I wouldn’t have even _wanted_ to, or that I needed protection from _them_ way more than they needed protection from me. On the plus side, bullies were mostly too afraid of me to do anything more than transmit insults from 20 feet away.”

 

Kurt rolls his eyes for effect. Blaine just looks thoughtful.

 

“I don’t think it ever occurred to them to be afraid of me,” he says, after a beat. “They should have been, though. I knew them more intimately than anyone. Even their own mothers.” Kurt sucks in a breath. Blaine is starting to drift, again. His eyes flash with something that would be dangerous if it weren’t so dreamy. “I knew every bit of hate in their hearts, and still, it hurt too much to shut them out. I couldn’t make myself do it, not until it was too late.”

 

“Blaine?”

 

Kurt reaches out, tentatively, and grips Blaine’s arm. It’s an instinct – Kurt doesn’t know how else to keep him from getting lost. Blaine looks at him, then, but Kurt can see in his eyes that he’s on the knife’s edge between here and gone.

 

“There was a dance, my freshman year. A Sadie Hawkins dance. I asked a friend of mine, the only other gay guy I knew. Mostly, people didn’t care. They were too full of other things, nice things – it just kind of drowned out the…unpleasantness. So I went out to get some air, and…I was followed. I could feel it before I even saw them – hate, disgust, directed at _me_ , I could feel it like it was my own. And still, I didn’t – there were three of them, and they were so strong. They beat the crap out of me, from the inside out. And I let them.”

 

Kurt has no idea what to say. There are tears stinging in the corners of his eyes. His grip around Blaine’s bicep is iron-strong.

 

“God, Blaine. I’m so sorry,” he says, and he hopes with all his heart that Blaine can feel from him what words can’t say.

 

Blaine barely acknowledges him.

 

“I’d been seeing a specialist for years. I knew how to shield properly. I just…didn’t.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says again, lamely.

 

“I thought I’d learned my lesson. I’ve been so good.”

 

His voice cracks, and it breaks Kurt’s heart.

 

“Blaine,” he says helplessly.

 

He trusts his instinct, then, gives into it fully. He pulls Blaine close, until he’s practically on top of Kurt. Blaine comes easily, twining his leg with Kurt’s and burying his face in Kurt’s neck. He isn’t crying, not beyond a stray tear that wends its way over the curve of his cheek and drips down into the hollows of Kurt’s collarbone. Kurt holds him tight and lets him breathe, relaxes until he’s sure Blaine can feel his bone-deep care. He relishes the weight of him as he goes easy and heavy in Kurt’s arms.

 

Soon enough, Kurt can hear it like a whisper in his mind – a litany of _thank you, thank you, thank you, I’m so sorry, thank you_ – and his chest tightens, because he knows how much trust it takes right now, and because Blaine’s voice – hearing it like this, it’s – it’s so intimate, so beautiful, so much like everything he’s wanted since that night on the fire escape.

 

Blaine lifts his head, blinking and cautious. His eyes are wide, and _there_.

 

 _You’re amazing, god, you’re so amazing_.

 

Kurt’s heart surges.

 

“You take my breath away,” he murmurs.

 

It isn’t clear who moves first. It doesn’t matter, not with Blaine pressed close and warm and his mouth against Kurt’s.

 

They grasp and gasp and taste on each other the heart-shivering rush of taking something they’ve been wanting. Kurt feels wild with it, and out of control, and it doesn’t even matter, because Blaine is there with him – his body and his brain and his old soul – and Kurt has been _starving_.

 

Blaine, he – he whimpers, in Kurt’s ear or in his head, it’s hard to tell, but it’s enough to make Kurt scrabble to pull him closer, kiss him harder, enough to send heat searing down Kurt’s veins and up through his skin, leaving him scorched and trembling for more, more, always more.

 

And then, suddenly, somehow, he comes to his senses. He pulls away, his heart pounding so hard he’s nearing dizzy.

 

“Wait,” he gasps. “We can’t.”

 

Blaine stares at him for a moment in confusion. His chest is heaving, his mouth red and parted. Finally, he nods.

 

“Okay,” he whispers.

 

He settles with his head against Kurt’s chest. His hair is as loose and disheveled as Kurt’s ever seen it, a few stray strands wilting onto his forehead. Kurt lets his arm drape over Blaine’s shoulder, so that his hand is resting against Blaine’s ribs. They lie there, together, in silence, until the sky starts to lighten.

 

&&&&&

 

Kurt misses Adrian’s call in the morning. He doesn’t call him back, instead texts what is simultaneously the truth and a flimsy excuse.

 

_Sorry! Overslept. Off to make New Year’s brunch._

 

He doesn’t tell his parents what happened, not really. When they ask about last night, Kurt tells them a friend called from a party and needed a ride. His dad gives him a nod of approval, and Carole sprinkles extra chocolate chips in his pancakes.

 

Kurt brushes his guilt handily aside. It’s not like they need to know.

 

He keeps himself busy all morning. He does the dishes, he does his laundry, he starts to pack for tomorrow’s flight. He ignores his phone when it starts to buzz. He blissfully doesn’t think about anything at all, except for the task at hand and his playlist of Madonna classics.

 

Soon enough – too soon – he runs out of busy work, and his stomach starts to grumble. He has to take a moment to breathe.

 

That’s when the guilt starts to catch up with him.

 

Okay, so he can do the mature thing, here. He can call his boyfriend and get him on Skype and tell him, plainly, what happened. Adrian is reasonable, and not particularly prone to possessiveness. He’ll understand.

 

Kurt picks up his phone. Three unread texts and a missed phone call, all from Adrian. He stares at his phone, unmoving.

 

There’s nothing from Blaine.

 

_Can you meet me for coffee today? Around 2:00?_

 

He’s composed the message and sent it before he’s even conscious of having made the decision. The response comes within moments.

 

 _See you then. Coffee’s on me_.

 

He sets his phone down, satisfied.

 

&&&&&

 

Blaine is waiting there for Kurt when he arrives. There’s a cup of coffee in front of him that he’s grasping loosely, fingers drumming nervously against the sides, and another sitting across the table. He looks…put-together. Neat. There’s not even a hint of the dark circles that Kurt saw under his own eyes when he looked in the bathroom mirror this morning. It’s almost disconcerting – it seems to Kurt that a night like that should stain itself into the skin.

 

“Hey,” says Kurt. He’s watching carefully, so he sees the quick flickering of emotions over Blaine’s face, but he doesn’t know, at all, how to read them.

 

“Hi,” says Blaine, with a bright smile. “I got you a nonfat mocha. I hope that’s okay.” His smile is maybe _too_ bright.

 

“That’s…perfect, actually.”

 

Kurt sits down, removes his outer layers. He takes a sip. The drink is still a little too hot, and it burns the back of his tongue. He winces.

 

“Sorry about that,” says Blaine, with a sympathetic wince. “I should have warned you.”

 

Kurt waves him off with a quick “It’s fine,” and takes another sip. He likes the way it feels, going down. Blaine clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably.

 

“So, I just wanted to say thank you, again, for what you did for me last night. It really meant a lot.”

 

“I’m just glad you’re okay.”

 

Kurt offers a smile, and Blaine returns it. Blaine is the first to drop his eyes. He takes a sip of coffee, and then a steeling breath.

 

“So,” he says, with what Kurt can see is a measure of bravado. He isn’t quite meeting Kurt’s eyes. “Are you going to tell Adrian about…”

 

“No,” says Kurt, quickly. It surprises him. It isn’t the decision he thought he’d made, but he doesn’t take it back. “No. I mean, it was a heat of the moment thing, it wasn’t like – he doesn’t need to know.”

 

Blaine’s eyes flick across Kurt’s in that reading way he has.

 

“I don’t know if I feel comfortable lying to him,” he says carefully.

 

“You won’t be. I’ll be lying to him, you’ll just be…not telling him.”

 

Blaine hesitates. He’s chewing on his lip, clearly conflicted. Kurt bristles.

 

“It’s my relationship, Blaine. I’ll decide how to handle it.”

 

Blaine’s eyes widen slightly in alarm.

 

“Of course. That’s – of course, you’re right. It’s your decision. Just – I think he’d forgive you, if he knew. I think he’d appreciate that you were honest.”

 

He’s so very earnest. Kurt softens, that flash of anger draining out of him as quickly as it came. His heart, left vulnerable, gives a twinge. He sighs.

 

“I know,” he says quietly. “It’s not that – it’s – I care about you so much, Blaine. I don’t want anything to change.”

 

He sounds pathetic to his own ears, and afraid, but he can’t bring himself to care. He finds he has no desire to hide anything from Blaine at all.

 

Blaine smiles in his Blaine way, soft and bright and cutting Kurt to the quick. He covers Kurt’s hand with his. Kurt flips his palm, a practiced gesture now, and holds on tight.

 

“Don’t worry,” says Blaine. “Nothing has to change.”

 

They’re connected at the eyes, and the hands, and the deep down places that have no name. The moment suspends, and so does Kurt’s heartbeat. He fills to the brim with certainty.

 

He’s right to protect this.

 

The tension is broken, after that, and conversation comes as easily as ever. They stay through one refill, and then another, and don’t even notice the waning light until the world has gone pitch black beyond the windows.

 

They part reluctantly, lingering over their goodbyes as they walk arm in arm through the parking lot. Kurt pulls Blaine in for a hug when they reach his car. Blaine hugs back with his whole body, just as he always does, and Kurt’s smile slips beyond the bounds of his control. It’s more than he hoped for, to make it through this intact. No, more than that – better than before. Blaine holds him impossibly tighter, for just a moment, and then they’re pulling apart.

 

“Have a good night,” murmurs Kurt.

 

“You too,” says Blaine, warmly.

 

Kurt calls Adrian when he gets home, and his conscience gives barely a pang as he tells him the edited version of the truth.

 

&&&&&

 

Kurt finds it easier than he thinks he should to lie to Adrian – or, to be more precise, not to think of the lie at all. He and Blaine are closer than ever, and Adrian continues not to love it, but it’s just…not his business. It has nothing to do with him, or their relationship, and it’s _Kurt’s_.

 

Besides, it’s not as if Kurt has any time to dwell, with the new semester barreling forward at full speed. Kurt’s course load is heavier than ever, and the diner is going through a staffing upheaval that means he’s getting pressured into taking on longer shifts, not to mention his tireless efforts to book Pamela Lansbury a gig – they’ve been suffering a drought since just before Thanksgiving, which is really a shame, because they’ve never sounded better. He barely even sees Adrian outside of rehearsal, unless their work schedules line up so that they can catch breakfast together.

 

In spite of all of that, Kurt hasn’t felt this happy, or this…himself, since – since Finn died, to be honest. He isn’t sure if it’s just time doing its job, or the catharsis of spending the holidays with his family, or the fact that his life right now is exactly what he wants it to be, but it’s like some sort of fog has cleared. He’s singing in the shower every morning, and dressing with the sort of daring he thought he’d grown out of but really just lacked the inspiration for. He feels lighter on his feet and quicker to smile, and he’s practically filled up the sketchbook he left to languish last spring. One Saturday, while Adrian is on double shifts, he even has enough excess energy to redecorate the apartment.

 

Adrian doesn’t comment beyond a drawled, “Wow, so things look…different” when he comes home, but Kurt can tell he’s not enthusiastic about the changes. He has that look on his face that says he’s not happy, he knows better than to say so, and he wants Kurt to know it anyway. It’s a passive aggressive thing he does that Kurt hates and, unfortunately, has to put up with fairly often – it’s the same look he gets every time he tells Adrian he’s going out to meet Blaine, these days.

 

Oh, well. It’s Kurt’s space, too, and he’s getting tired of the hipster-ironic, indie rock aesthetic. He needs color, and texture, and drama.

 

Adrian will grow to love the new look, he’s sure. He just needs to get used to it.

 

And then, finally, out of the blue, Kurt’s hard work pays off and Pamela Lansbury gets booked at Bushwick’s very own Goodbye Blue Monday for the weekend before Valentine’s Day. Rehearsals kick into high gear, and so does the drama.

 

First there’s Rachel and her _Funny Girl_ schedule, and a yelling match with Santana that causes her to storm out of her own apartment. Kurt puts out that particular fire with a bottle of white wine and an invitation for girl talk, which leads to a night spent curled up together on top of Rachel’s sheets and a sloppily written agreement, signed by the both of them, stating that Rachel will retain honorary membership status for as long as the band stays together, even if she can never make it to another gig.

 

And then there’s this whole thing with Jody and Elliott, and Kurt knows about it mostly because Elliott keeps calling Adrian to vent at, like, midnight, when Kurt is trying to sleep, but it wouldn’t be hard to guess from the aggressive way Jody has been staring at the back of Elliott’s head during his solo lines. Honestly, Kurt doesn’t want to know the details.

 

All the drama is totally worth it in the end, because the gig is completely and totally awesome. They look great and sound better, and their stage chemistry is flawless. The audience screams for not one, but _two_ encores. Kurt is kind of floating all the way back to the loft, even if he is weighed down by what feels like several tons of cables.

 

What was meant to be a quick equipment drop-off morphs into a post-gig party. Santana arranges the entire contents of their liquor cabinet in a neat row on the kitchen table, punctuated by a towering stack of red Solo cups, and soon enough the place is packed with friends and friends of friends and people Kurt is pretty sure walked in off the street. Rachel runs for her computer the second she walks in the door and starts up a party playlist that she has been told in no uncertain terms must contain no more than 20% Barbra.

 

It’s no wonder that Kurt’s headache, which subsided on the walk back to the loft, resurges with a vengeance.

 

He excuses himself from a conversation he was barely paying attention to, untangling Adrian’s arm from where it’s been growing ever more clamped around his waist. It’s just Adrian, Elliott, and a couple of their friends that Kurt has nothing in common with except for their mutual connections, and Kurt doesn’t feel bad about it at all.

 

 _I’m gonna go get some fresh air_ , he says, with a quick peck to Adrian’s cheek. Adrian nods his understanding and goes back to debating the merits of buying music on vinyl. Or whatever.

 

Kurt makes a beeline for the fire escape.

 

He climbs through the window and stops short. He laughs.

 

“Well,” he says. “Fancy meeting you here.”

 

Blaine grins. He scoots over, where he’s sitting on the steps, and makes room for Kurt.

 

“I’m surprised you made it this long,” he says. “This is round three for me.”

 

Kurt settles himself next to Blaine. They’re pressed hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and shoulder to shoulder. It’s nice.

 

“That’s…very careful of you.”

 

Blaine looks down at his hands. Kurt leans into him – it’s unconscious, at first, but he doesn’t pull away when he realizes. Blaine slants a smile his way.

 

“I figured we didn’t need a repeat of New Year’s,” he says.

 

“That would probably be for the best.”

 

The night is cold, and their breath is mingling, visible, in front of them. Kurt finds himself matching Blaine’s rhythm, deep and slow.

 

He closes his eyes against the pounding in his head. He’s tempted to rest his forehead against Blaine’s shoulder and let himself drift until the pain has dissipated. Blaine will keep him safe.

 

“How are you feeling?” asks Blaine. Kurt opens his eyes. Blaine’s brow is wrinkled slightly – adorably – in concern. Kurt grins, and bumps Blaine’s shoulder with his own.

 

“Can’t you tell?”

 

Blaine smiles again.

 

“Is that an invitation?” he asks.

 

“Do you need one?”

 

“You know I don’t like to…take things that aren’t freely offered.”

 

Blaine looks away, clearly uncomfortable. Kurt leans forward, tries to catch his eye.

 

“Well, I’m offering.”

 

Blaine looks up, and their eyes connect with a startling jolt, like the short, sharp shock of static electricity. Kurt feels suddenly pinned, helpless, and happily so. He wouldn’t want to look away, even if he felt he could. The moment stretches, and pulls, and then Blaine blinks, and it snaps. Kurt lurches inside. There’s a part of him that wants to keen with sorrow. He shakes himself – _get a grip_ – and pulls himself together.

 

Blaine cocks his head and smiles with amused affection.

 

“Drunk,” he says decisively. “Giddy. Tense. I’m betting you have the headache from hell.”

 

Kurt inclines his head in rueful agreement.

 

“It’s getting better.”

 

Blaine nods. He looks away, toward the window and the party beyond. Kurt follows his gaze. Their friends are nothing but shadows, right now, bits of arms and legs and twirling hair cast on the floor. Blaine looks back.

 

“Tonight went well, don’t you think?”

 

His eyes are lit from within. Kurt doesn’t need empathy to catch the thrill of his excitement.

 

“God, it was amazing,” he says. “We were amazing.”

 

“Yeah, we were.”

 

“I could do that forever.” He sighs happily, basking in the memory of it, and the rush that still hasn’t faded. “Is it terrible that I think _Applause_ might actually be the Lady Gaga song that best describes my life? I always thought it was _Born This Way_ , but after tonight…”

 

Blaine laughs.

 

“ _I live for the applause, applause, applause…_ ” he sings. He raises his eyebrows at Kurt, who takes the hint in a heartbeat.

 

“ _I live for the applause-plause, live for the applause-plause –_ ”

 

He doesn’t pause, doesn’t need to – Blaine comes in seamlessly on harmony.

 

“ _Live for the way that you cheer and scream for me, the applause, applause, applause_.”

 

Their voices blend as if they were meant to.

 

Kurt swallows.

 

“Adrian never sings with me,” he says, a propos of nothing. It’s maybe possible that alcohol has loosened his lips, but he would believe that it’s just Blaine.

 

“Oh?” says Blaine, indulgently.

 

“He says he can’t sing, but I’ve heard him hum along to the radio when he doesn’t know I’m listening, and he totally can. It’s like, I don’t know, a phobia or something.”

 

“Duetaphobia?”

 

“No, letting-Kurt-hear-me-sing-aphobia.”

 

Blaine squints at him, the corner of his mouth pulled up in amusement.

 

“Hm. That doesn’t sound like a real thing.”

 

“It must be real, because he has it.”

 

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re surrounded by people who would be more than happy to sing with you whenever you please. Rachel, Santana, every one of your classmates. Me.”

 

“I like singing with you.”

 

Blaine smiles. His face is suddenly so close to Kurt’s that their noses are a hair’s breadth from bumping.

 

“I like singing with you, too.”

 

Kurt smiles dopily and lets his eyes linger over his favorite parts of Blaine’s face – his gorgeous eyes, the curve of his lips, the sharp angles of his jawline. He sighs again, and sinks until his head is resting against Blaine’s strong shoulder. His headache has almost completely vanished.

 

The night is quiet around them – as quiet as a city street can get. The noise from the party is muffled by the closed window, nothing more than echoes of a bass line and far-away peals of laughter. It’s nice to sit here, in the privacy afforded by the night, with Blaine.

 

“Why aren’t you in theater school, Blaine?” he murmurs. “Like, really, for real. You were born to be on a stage.”

 

Blaine leans his head against Kurt’s. Kurt shifts, and settles, until the weight and the warmth of it is exactly perfect.

 

“I really did think about it,” says Blaine. “Senior year, I actually convinced the administration to sponsor a production of _West Side Story_ , in collaboration with our sister school. It was supposed to be the cherry on top of my applications.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“It was just kind of…a mess. I would get caught up in a moment and let my guard down, which, of course, would take me completely out of the scene, because it’s really hard to fall in love with someone when all she’s really feeling is annoyance at the itchy tag rubbing against her back. Or else I would be concentrating so hard on maintaining my shields that I was never really in the moment in the first place. My performance was never…authentic.”

 

He huffs out a sigh of frustration. His shoulders are tense, Kurt can feel it beneath his cheek. Kurt nuzzles just a little bit closer.

 

“I bet you’re being too hard on yourself. When you sing, Blaine…there’s nothing more authentic than that.”

 

“Thank you.” His voice is soft. Kurt reaches across his body to take his hand. He threads their fingers together. Blaine squeezes appreciatively. “You know I’ll be sitting front row center for your first opening night, and I’ll be bragging to everyone around me that I knew you when.”

 

“Not likely. I’m never saying goodbye to you. You’ll just have to brag that you got in for free, because that’s your best friend up there.”

 

“Lighting up the stage, like I knew he would.”

 

“So nervous he’s about to pass out.”

 

Blaine laughs, and Kurt does too. It’s the loopy, giggly kind that’s hard to stop.

 

“Don’t worry. That part will be our little secret,” says Blaine. Kurt doesn’t look up, too comfortable where he is, but he’s pretty sure Blaine winked. It’s the kind of thing you can just tell.

 

Kurt smiles. He likes having secrets with Blaine.

 

He closes his eyes. Blaine’s warmth and the steadiness of his heartbeat are lulling him into drowsiness. Their silence is so comfortable, and so full of nice things. It’s the easiest thing in the world to let his mind drift and his muscles go lax.

                                                                                                          

“Kurt,” Blaine murmurs, after a time.

 

Kurt was right on the edge of sleep, but he’s not unhappy to be called back.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Listen.”

 

Kurt blinks his eyes open, and he’s just about to ask what he’s supposed to be listening for when, suddenly, he hears it. Soft and far away, like it’s drifting down the street from someone’s parked car.

 

_Wise men say only fools rush in,_

_But I can’t help falling in love with you…_

 

“Dance with me?” breathes Blaine, lips brushing against the shell of Kurt’s ear.

 

Kurt sucks in a sharp breath, and then he’s nodding, quick as his heartbeat.

 

They detangle themselves and stand, slowly, as if moving through a dream. Blaine’s hand settles on Kurt’s shoulder, and Kurt’s moves up the sturdy slope of Blaine’s back. Their free hands clasp, tucked in close to their swaying bodies.

 

_Like a river flows surely to the sea,_

_Darling, so it goes,_

_Some things are meant to be_ …

 

They move closer, and closer, until Blaine is nestled into the curve of Kurt’s neck, and Kurt can feel the beat of his heart pounding neatly in time with Kurt’s.

 

Blaine’s breath ghosts warm over Kurt’s skin as he opens his mouth to sing softly along.

 

“ _Take my hand. Take my whole life, too. For I can’t help falling in love with you._ ”

 

Kurt shivers. He closes his eyes, clutches at Blaine as if he could slip away. He doesn’t sing along – he doesn’t bother to try. If he opened his mouth, there would be no sound. It’s hard enough to breathe. He lets himself feel, instead, opens himself as much as he can stand it, so that Blaine can feel it, too.

 

A gasp shudders through Blaine’s body. Kurt can feel the reverberation. Their movements slow until they stop, mid-circle, with the force of what’s surging between them. They hold each other, and breathe each other in, and it feels like dancing, still.

 

The music fades out, eventually, but they stay where they are until Kurt can’t stand it a moment longer – he has to see, he has to look at Blaine’s face and see his eyes, and, and – god, when he does, finally, it’s like – it feels like coming to life.

 

It’s then, right then, as they’re poised on the edge of something they couldn’t ever come back from – it’s then that the window is shoved roughly open, so loud that it startles Kurt right out of Blaine’s arms.

 

Adrian. Face impassive, but for the width of his eyes. Kurt’s stomach takes a sick, swooping crash. Oh, god.

 

Adrian doesn’t say a word. He blinks, and he turns, and he leaves. Kurt is frozen.

 

“I’m – sorry, I should – I’ve got to – ” he says, stupidly, staring at the window and Adrian’s retreating back. He doesn’t make a move to leave.

 

“Go,” says Blaine, gently.

 

Kurt looks at him. He’s…closed himself off, arms crossed over his chest, trying with all his might to radiate understanding. Kurt nods.

 

“I’ll call you,” he says. It comes out as a whisper.

 

He leaves Blaine on the fire escape, alone.

 

&&&&&

 

Kurt catches Adrian in the hall, just outside the loft. He explains, tells him it was just two friends dancing. It’s not like – it didn’t _mean_ anything. Nothing _happened_.

 

Adrian accepts this, but his mouth is still pressed in a thin line, and he tenses when Kurt moves to touch him. He keeps his distance, physically and emotionally, until they’re lying in bed, side by side, neither of them able to even think about sleeping. He reaches for Kurt, then. Kurt goes willingly.

 

Adrian’s touch is rough and possessive, in a way that Kurt finds anything but attractive tonight. Still, it’s better than silence.

 

 _I’m sorry_ , he whispers, once they’ve retreated to their separate sides once more.

 

Adrian doesn’t respond.

 

Kurt calls Blaine in the morning, while Adrian is out at work. He tells Blaine what happened, and Blaine suggests, rather firmly, that they should give each other some space for a while, until Kurt is able to work things out with Adrian. Kurt agrees – he doesn’t particularly want to, but he knows it’s for the best, for a whole bunch of reasons that he absolutely doesn’t want to explore.

 

“Talk to him,” Blaine says. “Make him talk to you. Don’t let him bottle it up.”

 

It’s good advice, but easier said than done. Adrian is a master at keeping people at arm’s length.

 

Kurt lets it go on longer than he maybe should, the tension and distance between them, hoping that Adrian will thaw out and come to Kurt on his own.

 

He doesn’t.

 

It would have kept on like that for weeks, probably, the three of them locked in a holding pattern while Kurt worked up the nerve to say what needed to be said, but Valentine’s Day is fast approaching. It will be Kurt’s first with an honest to god boyfriend, and he’ll be damned if he lets it pass in stony silence.

 

So he decides. He makes dinner reservations at Adrian’s favorite sushi place and puts in an order for a dozen red roses with the neighborhood florist and buys everything they need to make chocolate-dipped strawberries to feed each other by candlelight.

 

They’re going to be in the mood for romance by Friday if it kills them.

 

&&&&&

 

It’s Thursday, and Kurt is starting to panic. He’s cleared his schedule for the night, and he knows that Adrian’s is clear as well. They’re sitting in the living room, Adrian sunk deep in his ratty-but-beloved flea market armchair and Kurt perched on the sofa, legs crossed, foot wagging anxiously. They’re both on their laptops. Adrian is probably on that beer-snob blog he’s obsessed with, the one that caused him to decide for, like, three seconds last fall that he was going to get into home brewing. Kurt is staring, unseeing, at an essay he should be starting for his Elizabethan Tragedy seminar.

 

He huffs, and decisively shoves his laptop to the side. He uncrosses his legs, leans forward.

 

“This is silly, Adrian. We need to talk.”

 

Adrian doesn’t look up at first, but his body stills. His mouth goes pinched. Finally, he closes his laptop and sets it carefully on the coffee table.

 

“Okay, then. Talk.”

 

“I feel like you’re punishing me, and you won’t tell me why.”

 

Adrian raises his eyebrows, incredulous.

 

“You don’t have any idea why I might be angry at you.”

 

He bites the words, bitter and sarcastic.

 

“I already explained what happened,” says Kurt calmly. Rationally. “If we’re not okay, you need to tell me, so that I can fix it.”

 

“Right. Simple as that.”

 

“No, not – I just want you to _talk_ to me, Adrian.”

 

Adrian stares at him a moment, and it’s disconcerting how little Kurt knows about what he’s thinking.

 

 _I don’t know what to say_ , says Adrian, finally.

 

 _Well, maybe we can start with why you’ve been freezing me out all week_.

 

Adrian rolls his eyes.

 

_I can’t believe I even have to spell it out for you!_

 

_I told you, Adrian, nothing happened. You told me you believed me._

_I did. I do. But I know what I walked into._

_And what’s that?_

_History repeating itself._

Kurt sputters.

_We were just dancing, for god’s sake!_

 

It’s a weak protest, and Kurt knows it. Adrian positively drips disbelief.

 

_It could never be ‘just dancing’ between the two of you. I’m not an idiot, Kurt._

_Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I am, because I have no idea what you’re talking about._

 

Kurt tilts his chin up stubbornly, his heart pounding dread into his blood. Adrian throws his hands in the air in frustration and brings them down loudly against his thighs. He bursts.

 

 _You’re fucking in love with him! You’ve been_ cheating _on me since the moment you met him!_

 

Kurt gapes. Adrian has gone red in the face with the force of his anger, but the look in his eyes is…wounded. Kurt feels as if he’s been sucker-punched, scarcely able to draw a breath.

 

_That’s – you – I can’t believe you would even say that. You’re delusional._

_No, no, no, uh-uh, you don’t get to pretend like you’re the hurt party, here. You closed off to me the second you opened up to him, and you won’t even_ admit _it._

 

Kurt sighs, exasperated and scared and really only able to show one of those things.

_How many times do I have to tell you that_ nothing happened _?_

_It doesn’t fucking matter! You’ve been giving him things for months that you should have been giving to me – things you’ve_ never _given to me – and I don’t – I – why are you even still with me, Kurt?_

 

There are tears of frustration glistening in his eyes. Kurt looks away.

_I – I love you._

_No, you don’t._

_You don’t get to tell me how I feel!_

 

Adrian scoffs unpleasantly.

 

_Oh, please! I don’t need fucking empathy to know that my boyfriend’s just not that into me!_

 

Kurt stares, at a loss for words. His head is spinning.

 

 _That isn’t true_ , he manages.

 

Their eyes hold for a long, tense moment, until Adrian visibly deflates. He slumps back into his chair.

 

 _Look, I get it_ , he says, defeated. _He brings out a side of you that I could never even touch. And, honestly, I’m really tired of resenting that._

 

Kurt swallows.

 

_So, what are you saying?_

_I’m saying…I don’t think we should fix this, Kurt._

_You’re just – you’re giving up?_

_I’m admitting defeat. It’s not the same thing._

_What about what_ I _want? Or doesn’t that count, to you?_

 

Kurt can feel himself on the verge of tears, but he’s trying hard to yank them back with the force of his self-righteousness. It’s only kind of working.

 

 _Fine,_ says Adrian tiredly. _What do you want, then?_

 

It’s this, finally, that pulls Kurt up short.

 

He doesn’t have an answer.

 

“I – I don’t know,” he whispers.

 

&&&&&

 

Kurt is curled up in a blanket on the lumpy old couch he finds himself missing, sometimes, because he picked it out and helped the cute guy from the Goodwill lug it up the stairs. He has a cup of hot chocolate grasped tightly in his hands, and there’s a plate covered in stale cheesecake crumbs on the coffee table beside him. Rachel is looking at him with big, sad, eyes.

 

This is not the outcome he expected.

 

He and Adrian agreed they needed some time apart to think about things, though Adrian made it pretty clear that he really only meant for Kurt to do the thinking, so Kurt packed a bag in a daze and came here, the only other New York home he’s ever had. He let himself in with the key he never gave back, sat himself on the couch, and cried his eyes out. Rachel came home just as he was starting to mop up the sodden mess that used to be his face.

 

“Oh, Kurt, what happened?” she said, with such genuine compassion that the waterworks started all over again.

 

Rachel is a good friend, though, so after he finished stuttering out the story of How His Relationship (Probably) Ended, she tapped into her emergency supplies. Chocolate and cheesecake, the only surefire way Kurt knows to make himself feel better.

 

“So, what are you going to do?” she asks, now. Her voice is gentle, and Kurt isn’t sure whether he’s grateful or he wants to punch her in the face for that.

 

“I wish I knew.”

 

“Well, you know you’re welcome to move back in, any time you want.”

 

“I do know that. Thank you.”

 

“We made a pact,” she says, simply.

 

Kurt smiles, weakly, in gratitude. He sighs.

 

“I just can’t believe I’m here, again. It’s like déjà vu.”

 

“Ah, yes. _Help, I’m Caught Between Two Guys, The Kurt Hummel Story_.”

 

Kurt snorts.

 

“Oh, god, high school me would be laughing his ass off in disbelief.”

 

“Yes, well, we’ve both come a long way since high school.”

 

She’s still got traces of Fanny makeup around her eyes, and a red line from the wig just below her hairline. Kurt smiles fondly.

 

“Yeah, we have.”

 

“So,” she says, hesitantly. “Do you think he’s right?”

 

“What, that I’ve been cheating on him with Blaine for almost five months?”

 

“Don’t give me that look! I know you wouldn’t cheat on him physically – ”

 

Kurt grimaces. Rachel’s eyes go huge and round.

 

“Kurt, you didn’t!”

 

“It was a kiss. One kiss, when we were drunk.”

 

“Oh, my god, did you tell Adrian?”

 

“Not…exactly.”

 

“Kurt, no wonder! I mean it’s enough that you’ve been cheating on him emotionally, but this – ”

 

“What does that even mean, ‘cheating on him emotionally’? I’m allowed to have male friends outside of my relationship.”

 

Rachel levels him a look.

 

“Kurt, come on. Be honest. Who do you go to, when you’re looking for emotional intimacy?”

 

Kurt doesn’t answer. He knows the truth before she’s even finished asking the question. He slumps into the cushions.

 

“Oh, god, I’m a horrible person.”

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

“I’ve been treating my boyfriend like crap.”

 

“Well, yes. I suppose you have.”

 

“Why do I always do this?”

 

“I don’t know. I think…it’s hard, letting go of love, even when you know it’s for the best. It’s the worst feeling in the world.”

 

She says it softly, sadly. She has that look she gets, always, when she thinks about Finn. Kurt sits up and gathers her in for a hug. They both need it.

 

“I was so messed up when Adrian and I got together,” he admits, into her hair. “Adam was always…hovering, always wanting things I couldn’t give, and trying to give me things I didn’t want. And then Adrian came in and actually _listened_ to me, and got me out of my head, and…it was no contest, you know? He made me feel like a new person. A different person, who grief couldn’t touch.”

 

“And Blaine?”

 

Kurt laughs, humorlessly, helplessly.

 

“He makes me feel…everything.”

 

Rachel pulls back. There’s a sad little smile on her face. She grasps him by the shoulders and looks him straight in the eye.

 

_Sounds like no contest to me._

 

Kurt feels like crying. He bites his lip.

 

_What if I mess it up?_

 

She shrugs. A spark lights in her eyes.

 

_Don’t._

 

&&&&&

 

Kurt and Adrian meet for a very civilized breakfast, in which Kurt tells him he was right, and makes his apologies, and they make arrangements for Kurt to come pack up his things. Neither of them cries, but they do hug, and Kurt is optimistic that they’ll be able to keep the band together without any hard feelings. Adrian is awesome like that.

 

Kurt spends the rest of the day dithering. He’s barely present during his classes and coasts through his shift at the diner on autopilot. He knows he should be going through a period of relationship mourning and self-reflection right now, but it honestly doesn’t feel like an end to him. Not really. He wants it to be a beginning. Which is why he can’t stop stressing about whether or not 10 hours after your break-up is an appropriate time to ask your best friend to be your boyfriend.

 

He asks Rachel and Santana as the three of them chug their morning coffee, he asks Dani during a lull in their joint shift at the diner, he even consults both _Dear Abby_ and _Cosmo_ on the issue, and all of his sources tell him a definitive _no_.

 

It doesn’t stop him from showing up at Blaine’s door that night, with no prior notice and a bouquet of last-minute, gougingly expensive red and yellow roses grasped tightly in his sweaty hand. He presses the buzzer, heart in his throat.

 

It’s Sam who answers, with a lazy “Yeah?”

 

“It’s Kurt,” he says. He clears his throat. “Um, can I come up?”

 

Sam buzzes him in without a word. He answers the door after two knocks, leaning up against the door frame and looking him up and down in a way that’s probably meant to be intimidating but does nothing to diminish his resemblance to an overgrown golden retriever.

 

“I’m guessing you’re here to see Blaine?” he says.

 

“Um, yeah. Is he here?”

 

Sam nods shortly.

 

“In the shower. Come on in, he should be out in a minute. He just hit the last chorus on _Teenage Dream_ , so…”

 

Sam gestures vaguely toward the bathroom, at the end of the hallway. Sure enough, Blaine’s voice can be heard, faintly but distinctly. “ _My heart stops when you look at me, just one touch, now baby I believe…_ ”

 

Kurt smiles. He really can’t help it, it just blooms all over his face. Sam is watching him, eyebrows raised.

 

“So,” says Kurt, casting his mind about for topics of small talk. “Got a hot Valentine’s date?”

 

Sam shrugs.

 

“Nah. Me and Blaine planned a single dudes bro-date – you know, X-Men marathon, Blaine’s awesome raspberry brownies. He’s been kind of down this week, so I figured I could indulge for the night. You know, for his sake.”

 

There’s a lot Kurt could say to that, but there’s really only one thing that sticks out.

 

“He’s been down?”

 

“I mean, he hasn’t said anything, but I can tell.”

 

Kurt nods, thoughtful. The water is turned off, and the apartment goes suddenly quiet.

 

“What about you?” says Sam. He nods to the roses still clutched in Kurt’s hand. “Off to a big, romantic date with the boyfriend?”

 

Kurt shifts uncomfortably. He’d rather not tell Sam about this before he has a chance to tell Blaine, but oh well.

 

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

 

Sam perks up, eyes wide.

 

“Since when?”

 

“I guess…10:00 this morning, officially.”

 

“Oh, wow, I’m sorry, man. Valentine’s Day break-up, that’s rough.”

 

“No, no, it was a long time coming. I’m fine. Really.”

 

Sam’s gaze shifts awkwardly.

 

“Well, I’m going to, um, make some popcorn. In the kitchen. So that’s where I’ll be,” he says, and with that, he turns on his heel and makes his escape.

 

Okay. Well, at least he didn’t try to comfort Kurt with an impression of George W. Bush. That, at least, is an improvement.

 

“I’m ready for some shirtless Hugh Jackman whenever you…”

 

Kurt turns. Blaine has trailed off, staring dumbly at Kurt, like he’s the very last person in the world he expected to see in his living room. He’s wearing a white undershirt that clings to the damp patches of skin scattered over his torso, and a pair of comfortably stretchy jeans. His cheeks are pinkened from the heat of the shower. He blinks. His eyelashes are clumped, slightly, with moisture. Kurt can’t stop staring, either.

 

“You’re not Sam,” says Blaine.

 

“Very astute,” says Kurt, dryly. “Sam is in the kitchen, if you want him.”

 

“Well. Um. I don’t mean to be rude, but – why are you here? I thought – I mean, don’t you have plans with Adrian?”

 

Kurt takes a deep breath.

 

“We broke up, actually. This morning.”

 

This seems to spur Blaine into action. He crosses the room quickly, and reaches out, hand hovering as if unsure what kind of comfort to offer.

 

“Oh, my god, Kurt, I’m – that’s – if I had anything to do with – ”

 

“You didn’t.” It’s close enough to the truth. “At least, not the way you mean.”

 

“Oh. Well, I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. I know how much you wanted things to work out.”

 

Kurt takes Blaine’s fidgeting hand. His eyes dart to Kurt’s. Kurt tries to smile reassuringly, but his nerves are really making that difficult. He kind of wishes his palm weren’t so sweaty, too.

 

“It’s for the best,” he says. “I – I didn’t really know what I wanted.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I was scared that things would change, because I was so _happy_ for the first time in a long time, and I didn’t realize they already had. That I was happy _because_ they had.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“So, um, the thing is, Blaine, I – I was fine before I met you, but…you brought me to life.”

 

Blaine’s eyes widen, and he laughs breathlessly, a beaming smile starting in his eyes.

 

“Like the song?”

 

Kurt laughs, too, at himself, and because it’s really starting to hit him, what he’s doing. He feels affection unfurl deep in his gut. He hopes that Blaine can feel it, too.

 

“Yes. Like the song.”

 

“Does that mean you want to put your hands on me in my skintight jeans?”

 

Blaine is positively twinkling. Kurt laughs helplessly. He breathes, tries to calm the riot of butterflies in his stomach. He squeezes Blaine’s hand, and looks into those beautiful, beautiful eyes, shining like that just for him, and he lets his vulnerable heart beat for Blaine. He feels it, his own love, deep down to the marrow, and he sees it reflected back. He has to blink back the tears starting to sting his eyes.

 

“Actually, I was hoping you’d be my Valentine.”

 

He holds up the flowers he only just remembered, taking not one second to look away. Blaine blinks, and he takes them with careful reverence. He smells them with a gentle, smitten smile, looking up at Kurt through his lashes.

 

 _Yes_.


End file.
